Participant Observation
by Starzki
Summary: A graduate student wants to study the crew of the Bebop for her dissertation research. Heaven help her, she's with Ed now. Update: Chapter 11: Fieldnotes 3, Sniffing Around with Ed and Ein.
1. The Gatekeeper

Disclaimer: I disclaim making any money off of Cowboy Bebop. Exhibit A: My checking account (sob).

Author's Note: I'm toying with a bunch of ideas in trying to expand this story into a whole bunch of stories. It's kind of the classic reporter-follows-around-characters-and-learns-what-fans-already-know-and-goes-on-adventures-with-them thing. Only, I'm more well versed in sociological research and research methods (like participant observation) and can write better about things I know.

If people (ahem) read and respond (ahem), I'll keep going with this.

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Participant Observation

By Starzki

The Gatekeeper

Lisbeth Silva took a nervous step onboard the Bebop. She had found Tranquility Harbor in Alba City without a problem and it would have been impossible to miss the hulking craft bobbing in the gentle, lapping waves. Lisbeth was nervous because she hated asking favors. She especially hated asking favors from virtual strangers, even those tangentially related to her. Steadying herself to the rocking of the ship, Lisbeth shook her head to rid, on the surface at least, the anxiety of this meeting. She squared her shoulders, straightened her back to its full 5' 4" height, and set a friendly-yet-businesslike look to her features and strode confidently on deck.

Lisbeth was met on the ship's short runway by a tall, imposing, muscular, and scarred man. Neither person was sure how to greet the other. Lisbeth took the initiative and stuck out her hand.

"I'm Lisbeth. I'm so glad that I finally got the chance to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me," she said with a smile filled with genuine warmth.

"Jet. We're in town anyway," said the Bebop captain warily shaking the young woman's hand.

"Where would you like to talk?" asked Lisbeth, getting down to business.

"Inside's fine," he replied. "My partners all went into the city. They'll be gone all afternoon."

"Ok… Do I call you Jet? What do you prefer?"

"Jet's fine," he replied feeling better that she wasn't coming into the situation assuming things. "You go by Lisbeth?"

She smiled, "Yeah. Mostly Beth. But not Liz, though."

The pair endured an uneasy silence as they made their way to the upper deck observatory to sit and talk.

As Lisbeth settled into her seat and arranged a few notebooks and her day planner in front of her, Jet took in her appearance. Lisbeth was startlingly pretty, exotic. She had long smooth, wavy brown hair that spilled down her back. Sunlight picked up its copper red highlights. She wasn't tall nor was she slender in the conventional pretty ways, but she had a muscularity, a strength of presence, a centering substance to her movement and being. She was dressed "business/casual" in dark slacks, open fitted white dress shirt with a blue undershirt. Her outfit flattered but did not call open attention to her hour glass figure. Jet saw at once, as an impartial observer, that her eyes were what made her really beautiful. Lisbeth's face was pretty. She had an olive, clear complexion, a small straight nose with a few freckles sprinkled across the bridge, and a wide smiling mouth. But her eyes, wide and dark and fringed by impossibly long black lashes, made what would have been an ordinary face look almost enchanting.

Lisbeth smiled at Jet, glad to be getting down to business. "Like I said in the email, I'm asking you and your crew to be participants in my research for my Ph.D. dissertation. I've already been invited and lived on 3 other bounty hunters' ships and gathered research on them. When I asked them who I should contact, who else might be interested in participating, who else could give me good data, all three named the Bebop." She stopped to take a breath, her nervousness rising again. She wasn't quite sure how to proceed and actually ask the question. She plastered a smile on her face and continued, "I contacted you about this because I was referred to you by other bounty hunters. I'm not asking you because you're my uncle."

Jet had lit a cigarette. He took a long drag on it and stared at Lisbeth as she bit her lip and let the worry reach her expressive eyes. He blew out a stream of smoke and sat silently, seemingly considering what she was saying.

Lisbeth felt the need to press on, make up for her last statement. "Not that I didn't want to meet you," she was making short choppy gestures with her hands, her eyes bright with fear that she might have offended him. "I've been curious to know you, of course. Ever since we found out about you. But there was just so much surprise and anger and hurt feelings. I didn't know how to start, if you even wanted to meet any of us."

Jet tapped the ash off the cigarette and looked at Lisbeth's faltering smile. He sighed. "I didn't really want to know any of you. I've always considered that the man my mom married was my father. Your grandfather wasn't anything to me or my mom. When your family found out 5 years ago, it was 31 years to late for me and I didn't care any more. I have a family."

Lisbeth nodded quickly, "I didn't mean…"

"I agreed to meet with you because your research sounded interesting. I haven't heard of anyone else interested in what bounty hunters do. So why don't we talk about that for now."

Relief spread over Lisbeth's features and her smile reappeared. "Good. Ok. As I told you in the email, I'm a Ph.D. student in the criminal justice department at the University of Mars, Alba City. I got my Masters degree there 2 years ago…"

"Congratulations," said Jet, respectfully.

Lisbeth beamed back at him. "Thank you. I'd been doing a lot of research on the change of law enforcement after the gate explosion and the migration from Earth. I discovered that there has been no in-depth study of bounty hunters since then even though they have become hugely influential in law enforcement and the way things are run in the criminal justice system. I mean, sure, there are official statistics about how many cowboys are out there, how much the different governments pay them, their success rates, and all that. But I'm more curious as to what the lives of bounty hunters are like, how crews live and work together, how different types of people, different configurations of crews work differently. I brought this to my dissertation committee and sent my proposal through the university's Internal Review Board and was approved to start gathering data. I've been on 3 ships and am now asking that yours be the fourth."

Jet eyed her, "Why bounty hunters? Why us in particular?"

Lisbeth shrugged, "Everyone does the police. It's been done to death. Also, absolutely no one gets in to study the ISSP. They don't want any close scrutiny by anyone, particularly researchers. So they're out, too. I don't know why, but no one has taken a qualitative look at bounty hunters, another arm of law enforcement. I don't mind being the first to try."

Jet was nodding. Having worked as a cop, as an ISSP agent, and as a bounty hunter, he understood the draw and the interest in law enforcement. To him, Lisbeth sounded intelligent and driven, or at least very well prepared. He was interested enough to hear more of what she had to say. "How would this work?" he asked.

"First, I would have to get informed consent from you and your partners."

"What if one of them says no?"

"Then I can't do it and I'll move on."

"And if we all say yes?"

"Then I stay on board. I hang out, see how you all live and work. This is participant observation research, so I'll follow you around, ask questions, try and learn. It sounds obnoxious, but I try to be cool and discrete. Basically, it's like I'm a new member in training who never does anything. I mean, I'll give you any help I can, but I won't, I'm not allowed to interfere in your lives."

"We feed you?"

"No. I'll pay rent. I can't afford a lot. I'm working off of a fellowship. I'll buy my own food and supplies, whatever I need. But I can't pay you or your partners for participating. Sorry."

Jet's eyebrows had shot up in surprise when he heard Lisbeth's offer of rent and he almost smiled at her apology for not paying them some kind of salary. If this went through, it would be the first time that it wouldn't cost him to take on someone new. "For how long?" he asked.

"However long it takes for me to collect all my data," Lisbeth said coyly, raising an eyebrow. She got more serious, "Generally, it'll take from 4 to 12 weeks. A crew this big, if everyone cooperates, I would guess 8 or 9 weeks."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Not quite a year. I spend time on a ship. I come back home and sort through my data. Find another ship, and so on."

Jet stubbed out his cigarette and furrowed his brow in consideration. Lisbeth took in his look and did a mental comparison between Jet and her father. Even discounting the scary prosthetic arm and deep scar around his right eye, she had a hard time believing the two men were half-brothers. They did have the same basic stature: muscular, quiet, but with a jovial demeanor. However, Lisbeth's father's advancing years, calm family life, and non-exiting office work as a salesman had softened him. Jet looked like he could break you with an eyelash. Jet was going bald where Lisbeth's dad's hair was still there, but turning silver. Her dad had warm blue eyes to Jet's jaded gray. They shared no mannerisms or speech patterns. Lisbeth could have lived her entire life next door to Jet Black and never once considered him alike enough to be a blood relative.

"I think it sounds ok to me so far, Beth. I'll bring it up with the others when they get back and I'll call you."

"Great!" Lisbeth exploded, jumping up from her seat and pumping Jet's hand in thanks. "I wasn't sure what kind of reception I'd get when I got here, but this was the best that I could have hoped!"

"Beth, one thing. We don't really go into our pasts too much here on the Bebop."

"Ok?" said Lisbeth, slightly confused by the non sequitor.

"I'm just saying that if you come on, the others don't need to know…"

"Oh!" Lisbeth jumped in, then looked concerned. She nervously smoothed a lock of hair back off of her forehead. "Um, Jet? I do talk about my past. Like, a lot. And I have a hard time when I try to lie. I basically can't lie. I'll talk around it and it probably won't be too hard." Her forehead crinkled in thought and her focus turned inward, as if mentally constructing possible scenarios in which she would talk about her family. Her eyes then focused and locked on Jets'. "I promise not to bring it up. I'll be discrete and tactful and try not to slip and say something about it. But I won't lie," she said with a stern confidence.

"Ok. I just don't want it broadcast. It's my business."

Lisbeth nodded seriously. "That's fine. Also, for my end, my dad and I are really close. We talk at least twice a week. He'll be calling here. He'll know that you're here. If you two don't want to talk, fine. But just be aware. I'll stay out of what's between the two of you. It's not my business."

"Good. That's fine. I won't want to talk to him, but I don't mind that he'll be calling."

Lisbeth gathered her things and began walking toward the exit. "I'm really glad to have met you, Jet. You'll call tomorrow?"

"I will, either way," Jet said, walking Lisbeth out into the warm spring air.

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"You've got to be kidding me," said Spike in exasperation, his long body bent to put the newly bought provisions into the small refrigerator. "Another female? That'll throw off the whole balance to their side."

Jet was leaning in the doorjamb, smoking. "It's not like she'll be making any decisions. She'll just be watching, hanging out, paying rent."

"How 'bout I pay you not to take her on," Spike countered, straightening and lighting up a cigarette of his own.

Faye entered the room and made her way to the now fully stocked fridge to rummage. She had been eavesdropping. "Yeah, Jet," said Faye, "I'm not sure about this, either. Why would anyone want to follow us around? And who would want to know what goes on with us anyway?"

Jet said, "From what Beth was saying, other bounty hunters know about us already. On the other three ships she's studied, they all recommended that she study us. We have some of the more…colorful…experiences in collecting bounty heads."

Spike and Faye both donned smirks of pride and self-satisfaction at the news that other bounty hunters discussed them. Both began to seriously consider taking on a new roommate. Ed and Ein padded into the room and surveyed the situation.

"Another member of Bebop?" asked Ed excitedly.

Jet replied, "Maybe. She seemed nice. She looked like she was confident enough to know what she was taking about. And there's the fact that three other ships have obviously survived her. What's the worst that could happen?"

"It's been my experience that it's always a mistake to ask that question," countered Faye with a sigh. It seemed to Faye that Jet had already warmed to the idea of taking on another person. It would be useless to argue with him. Also, she kind of liked the idea that she might be famous whenever Lisbeth wrote up whatever she found while onboard.

Spike yawned and started to leave the room in search of a couch to nap on, "I'll talk to her, but I'm not making any promises about letting her stay," he concluded.


	2. Informed Consent

A/N: The first thing I want to say is thank you to everyone who read and responded and had such nice things to say. I really appreciate it and will therefore continue with this story for a while.

Second of all, it seems I've managed to "out" myself as an older CB fan. That's ok. It is true that I am well out of high school. But I won't make excuses for liking CB. It's a fun show with an interesting concept and great characters that I can't help playing with like I did my Barbies so long ago.

Thirdly, this part of the story has Lisbeth, in perhaps the greatest amount of fiction in this story so far, able to call her committee and straighten out Internal Review Board red tape in a matter of minutes. I know this is utterly impossible. It is just my hope, in the future some of the ridiculousness associated with the IRB is dealt with so that research subjects are appropriately protected, but that cutting edge research can still take place. (Descends from soapbox.)

Finally, for me, writing realistic dialogue is the hardest part of fiction. And this chapter is mostly dialogue. All I can say is that I did my best, so if you read and respond, please be kind. – S.

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Participant Observation

By Starzki

Informed Consent

Lisbeth arrived on the Bebop exactly five minutes before she said she would. Jet met her outside and led her through the maze of walkways to the common room where Faye and Spike were waiting. Ed had wandered off and was fast asleep under a heading duct in one of the ship's storage rooms.

Again, Lisbeth was dressed in "college formal": black dress slacks, fitted red t-shirt under a black blazer that complimented her figure very well. Her dark hair was pulled back from her faced and rippled down to her mid-back. Jet saw that she looked as pretty as she did the previous day, but she was twice as nervous, as evidenced by the way her eyes would dart around and try and take everything in at once. Lisbeth never felt very confident when met new people. To mask her anxiety, she put on her brave, professional face and strode into the room behind Jet, shoulders set, back straight, and chin high.

Spike's eyes nearly boggled when he saw her. He had been draped over the arm of the couch, bored. He suddenly snapped to attention and his lips turned up into a pleased smile. "Hey," he said.

Lisbeth smiled back trying to make appropriate eye contact while taking in the whole rest of the room at the same time. She was slightly overwhelmed and the differences between each of the bounty hunters in front of her. None of the ships she had been on were so large nor had such a diverse crew. She could tell that it would be a huge challenge to collect data.

Jet pointed to Faye and Spike, introducing them. Lisbeth extended her hand, shook with each of them as they stood to greet her, and introduced herself, "Beth, pleased to meet you."

Spike scratched the back of his head and confessed sheepishly, "Jet said you were a researcher. I was expecting some geek with glasses and a notebook or something."

Lisbeth blinked confusedly, cocked her head, and knitted her brows together, innocent and uncomprehending of any inherent compliment. "I am. I am. I do." She held up her notebook that she had been clutching to her chest. "I'm a researcher. I am kind of a geek. But I wear contacts." She pointed at her eyes, opening them wider.

"I meant, I didn't expect you to look…" Spike was unsure how to finish his sentence. Lisbeth was looking at him intently, listening hard. She had her "researcher" hat on at that moment and wasn't expecting any non-academic comments.

Faye was quickly becoming bored and annoyed at the exchange. "He's trying to say, 'Me Spike, you pretty.' Hey Beth, don't waste your time with Spike, here. He wouldn't know what to do with a woman if you gave him diagrams and written instructions."

Spike chuckled and pinned her with a sharp stare before he said "Faye's trying to say, 'You pretty, me jealous.'"

Lisbeth's mouth dropped open at the exchange. She had just noticed how daring Faye's outfit was and was trying to process the compliments at the same time. "Um? Thanks? I make an effort when I have to ask for favors. Um. I hardly ever look like this… Uh…" Lisbeth turned to Jet, thrown off of her game and unsure how to proceed. A blush reddened her cheeks.

"You're here to study us…" Jet prodded.

She took in a breath. "Well, maybe," Lisbeth collected her thoughts, decided to ignore the banter for the time being, and settled into one of the yellow chairs as Spike, Faye, and Jet all resumed their seats around the coffee table. "I'm here to tell you what you're in for if you agree to let me on. Then, if everyone is ok with that, I'll have you sign some papers and I can get started."

Faye spoke up, curious, "Who were the other ships that recommended us?"

"Ok, the first thing I need to tell you is that all of the participants of this research will be kept completely confidential. So, Faye, I can't tell you whom else I've studied. But that also means that no one will know that I've studied anyone here on the Bebop, either. The ships that recommended you all recommended other ships, too. So, no one knows that I've picked you all to visit. But yours was the common thread, the one that all three told me would be a great ship to study."

"You won't use our names?" asked Jet.

"No. I also will change any non-important identifying information like age, names of friends and family, names of bounties that you bring in, or anything else that someone might read and know you by."

Spike leaned in, "You're going to change the facts. Isn't that unethical?"

Lisbeth straightened and smiled. "No. Actually, we will, as in each of you and I, will go over the specific information and change it together. I'm looking for the main themes, the patterns. The things that who each of you are, individually, can't really change. I want the big picture. Participant observation is about seeing the details to apply to or contrast with others' experiences in order to expand them into an overall, workable hypothesis." Lisbeth's eyes began flashing in delight and her gestures became more open as she spoke about the theory of research. All three bounty hunters could definitely see the geek in her trying to come out, but it still seemed like a nice geek.

"What if we don't want you to change anything?" asked Faye.

"Then I'll just change names, I guess. I have to. We can go over that later."

All three bounty hunters nodded, accepting these terms.

Lisbeth continued, "I also need to tell you that you can, any of you, stop participating at any time during the study, and I'll leave. You are under no obligation to participate to begin with or to continue participation once I've started. On the other hand, you won't receive any benefits from participating, either. I can't pay you or give you anything for your cooperation."

"But you'll pay rent," reminded Jet, not willing to let the previous day's promise slide.

"Yes," Lisbeth confirmed. "And for my own food and other necessities. I'll also chip in to help with chores around the ship. I'll do everything you do, just not chase bounties on my own, by myself."

"How will that work? You collecting whatever on us? Video?" asked Faye, her attention beginning to wane.

"I plan to leave voice-activated recorders in the main rooms of the ship. You can hear the recordings that I will eventually use and we can collaborate on how to mask your identity. Also, I'll schedule an in-depth interview with each of you some time during my stay. Furthermore, I will go on a bust, shadowing each of you at least once. I have my own mono racer. I can keep up. I won't actively help, I won't get in the way, I plan to just observe. Once I've collected all of the data that I need, I'll be out of your hair." Lisbeth took a breath after the mouthful she had just spoken.

"Jet said 4-12 weeks. Which is it?" asked Faye, who had pulled out a nail file and was shaping her nails.

"I'm not sure. The more cooperative you all are, the quicker I'm done. If everything goes smoothly, maybe two months or less," said Lisbeth. They all looked at one another for a few seconds, trying to think of more questions they wanted answered. "If you like, I can leave the room while you all decide," Lisbeth offered.

Ein chose that moment to enter the common room. Lisbeth held out her hand for Ein to sniff. She pet and scratched him as he came near. "Oh! What a precious dog! A Corgi! I LOVE dogs. Oh, what a sweetie. What's his name?"

Spike winced.

"Ein," said Jet. "He's usually with Ed."

"Ed?" asked Lisbeth. "Another crew member?"

Spike shot Faye a glance filled with murderous malice. "We took her on a few months ago as a favor. She's been hanging out ever since."

Lisbeth nodded despite her lack of understanding. She had pulled Ein into her lap and kissed his nose. Even though Ein was unused to effusive affection, he clearly did not mind it at all. His eyes rolled in happiness and he tried to lick Lisbeth's face. "A woman named Ed? Ok. I'll need to talk to her, too."

Jet had coughed at Lisbeth's mention of Ed being a woman. He set her straight. "Ed's a child. She just adopted us. We kind of look out for her. She's a great hacker."

Lisbeth's eyes widened into a panicked shock and she forgot about the dog. "Oh no no no no no no. A child!?" She sat stunned for a moment. "I don't have approval to study minors…Shit! I need to make a quick call."

Lisbeth set all of the informed consent papers on the table and took her comm into the hallway to call her committee about the IRB ramifications and what she needed to do in order to continue her work.

Spike and Jet looked over the forms (which said everything that Lisbeth had already explained) and proceeded to scrawl their names at the bottom. Faye looked dubious.

"Guys, I'm still not sure."

"What's the big deal, Faye?" asked Jet. "She'll be in and out. She'll only observe. And you can stop any time you want."

"I guess I just don't know what's so interesting about our lives."

"Are we boring you, Ms. Excitement?" asked Spike, lying down on the couch. "Or is it because you don't want the feminine competition?"

"Oh please. We're entirely opposite. There won't BE any competition. I just don't see what Beth could get out of this."

Lisbeth stepped back into the room. "I'll get my dissertation completed, a Ph.D. a job at a university, tenure, promotions and money. It's a kind of investment. Also, if it goes as well as I hope, no one in academia will be able to mention bounty hunters without a nod in my direction. It's a nerdy kind of fame."

"How about us? Will we get famous?" asked Faye.

"Oh, no!" laughed Lisbeth. "No one ever reads anyone's dissertation. Other academics just sort of hear that they exist and pretend that they've read it. But, only if you're lucky. Sorry. If this works out at all, it'll only be in my direction. You all will have to find another kind of way to get famous if that's what you want."

"So you want money and fame…a nerdy fame?" clarified Faye.

"Basically. Yeah. Plus this is the least boring research in the least boring field that will get me the results I want in my life."

Faye nodded thoughtfully as she signed the informed consent form in front of her. "I guess I can respect that," she said. She still was not sure, but did feel comforted that she could stop the whole thing any time she wanted. She would go along for now.

Lisbeth asked, "Jet, are you Ed's guardian? My chair said that I can continue and stay if her guardian signs for her."

Jet shrugged. "I guess I'm her guardian."

"I really need you to be sure."

"ED!" roared Jet.

Ed padded in, weaving erratically around the furniture, eyes bleary with sleep. Lisbeth smiled in amusement at the girl's antics. "You rang?" asked Ed with a flourish and a deep bow.

"Am I your guardian?" asked Jet.

"Nope! I put Faye-Faye as legal guardian," Ed said with a matter-of-fact smile.

"WHAT?" shrieked Faye.

"Ed needs a MOM!" said Ed in a serious tone.

Lisbeth bent and scooped up Ein again and began scratching him in all of the secret dog places. He actually began to groan in ecstasy as she hit itches he'd been feeling for weeks. Lisbeth settled back into the chair to watch the drama resolve. The dynamics between all of them were comfortable and mostly friendly. Lisbeth was taking an immediate liking to the whole crew.

"Ed, I demand that you put someone else as your guardian! I will NOT be legally responsible for you!" shouted Faye.

Ed turned to face Jet and Spike with the unasked question in her eyes. Spike laughed and said, "Don't look at me. I'm barely responsible for myself."

Ed looked at Jet pleadingly, playing up her youthful and innocent features. Jet sighed. "Alright, but if you leave, be sure to change it, ok?"

"Aye-aye," Ed saluted and began to tap furiously at her computer.

"Jet, you're her guardian, then?" asked Lisbeth, slightly confused at what she had just witnessed.

"I will be in a matter of minutes," he said, signing the piece of paper that Lisbeth had just passed over to him.

Lisbeth cocked her head and watched Ed. "Am I witnessing a felony?" she asked incredulously.

"Is that a problem?" asked Jet with a smile. If it was, he thought, her stay would be short and very eventful.

Lisbeth set down Ein and stood with a smile on her face. "Not really. Like I said, I won't help, I won't get in the way. I'll have to report you to the police if I see you, like, assaulting each other. If I get too uncomfortable with how you do things, I'll just leave. Other than that, I don't really care all that much."

When Ed was done, Lisbeth reintroduced herself to Ed and explained what she'd be doing and all of Ed's rights as a research subject. After she read it, Lisbeth had Ed sign the same informed consent sheet as Jet had previously signed as her guardian.

"Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV? Wow. I like it. How old are you anyway?" asked Lisbeth.

"Ed is 13!" shouted Ed, attempting to curl he leg to touch the soul of her foot to the back of her head.

"No way!" exclaimed Lisbeth. "I have a cousin who's six and is twice as big as you."

Ed looked unimpressed and began to rock back and forth on her feet.

"But he's freakishly huge," Lisbeth added and shrugged. Jet caught her eye and Lisbeth added, "Mother's side, takes after my aunt's husband's family. So I've heard. Anyway, 13? Are you sure?"

Ed nodded emphatically in the affirmative. "Bethie will be staying on Bebop-Bebop?"

"It looks like it," said Lisbeth as she looked around. "Unless there is anyone else on the ship."

"I don't guess so," said Jet. "When will you move in?"

"End of the week, if that's ok with all of you."

Jet continued, "You can have any of the unoccupied rooms on the ship. Spike'll show you around."

Spike took Lisbeth down the corridor to the nearest vacant room. He tried to act smooth. There was no way that he could keep his "man card" and not at least make an effort to see if a girl this pretty would be interested. "So, Beth, what are the rules about going out with your guinea pigs?"

Lisbeth smiled openly at him, taking the question as a compliment. "Not to," she said simply with a tinge of regret in her voice. She shrugged.

"Is that, like, a major rule?"

"Etched in stone," Lisbeth confirmed, nodding looking around, deciding what she would need to bring. Spike grinned back at her and nodded, the matter was settled for both of them. He walked her outside.

Lisbeth waved as she left, satisfied with the way things went. She couldn't wait to get started.


	3. Building Rapport

Participant Observation

By Starzki

A/N: A quick comment: I haven't read any of the mangas. I have read about them on a website and I saw that there was one about a reporter, but I don't even know where I would go to find a manga, even if I could afford them. So, while there might be similarities, it's only because I'm still going to school and I hang out with other students and researchers. I'm writing what I'm familiar with.

Also, this is the last introductory chapter. I promise! I thought I needed it and that I had all of these good ideas for it. But almost none of them ended up working out (I'll save them for later chapters). So I just ended this monster of a chapter so I can move on to the good stuff.

One more thing: A quick warning: Here be F-words.

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Building Rapport

Lisbeth moved onto the Bebop at the end of the week as planned without much incident. Jet busied himself with maintenance repairs as she cleaned out the old storage room, moved junk from one room to another, and scoured the floors and walls. Spike and Faye nonchalantly watched her out of the corners of their eyes, both ready with an excuse if she asked them to chip in and help her.

No longer dressed in the heighth of graduate school fashion, Lisbeth wore a baggy t-shirt, running pants, and kept her hair clipped into a loose bun on top of her head. It was a look that the Bebop would grow used to in the following weeks.

A thin sheen of sweat coated Lisbeth's face as she moved her boxes and piles of clothes into her new room. She had an amazingly enormous t-shirt collection that went everywhere with her. Most t-shirts advertised, advocated, or in other ways promoted women's soccer. She also lugged in 6 boxes of books. They quickly began a migration from her room. She had brought everything from classics by Sartre, Hardy, and Vonnegut to a lot of current and older popular mystery, crime, and horror novels. She apparently had a great appreciation for Stephen King. Academic journal articles and criminological texts also found themselves stacked high on every available flat surface. After her move in, it wasn't unusual for any of the bounty hunters to thumb through Camus's "The Stranger" after looking through King's "Gerald's Game" or "Psychology of Women Quarterly."

Lisbeth tried to make as few waves as she could in her move onto the Bebop. Her first night there, she distributed thank you gifts. She had managed to find Piyokos for Ed and a chew bone for Ein. She shared a bottle of Scotch with the adults on the ship. Half way through, Faye tried to get the others interested in a game of poker. Spike and Jet immediately declined. Lisbeth begged of, saying that she didn't know how to play.

"Oh, come on, Beth," charmed Faye. "I'll teach you. We won't even play for money the first few hands."

"Play for money? I don't think so," replied Lisbeth with a wary smile.

"Are you sure? Games of chance always favor beginners. Have you heard of beginners luck? It'll be fun and you could make some money." Faye was practically purring.

Lisbeth's smile grew wider. "Oh, darlin', I REALLY don't think so. You're talking to someone who has taken way too many statistics classes to believe in luck. I'm also one poor little girl. I like what little money I have where it is: with me."

Jet and Spike chuckled at the exchange. Spike said to Jet, "You're right. Beth IS pretty smart." Faye began to pout until Lisbeth poured her another drink.

"Me smart? Naw, I can just tell that Faye knows her way around a deck of cards. And I don't play any game that I think I can't win," Lisbeth said winking at the rest of the group.

After moving in, Lisbeth tried to settle into a routine that would bring her into contact with each cowboy she was studying at some point every day.

Lisbeth and Jet were the early risers. As Jet made the coffee, Lisbeth would shuffle in, glasses on, hair unbrushed and curly, and still in her pajamas (which usually were one of her t-shirts and some athletic shorts). Together, they would sip their coffee in silence, reading whatever was handy. The quiet was comfortable and they enjoyed each other's company.

After coffee, Lisbeth would get ready to face her day by changing into her "day" t-shirt and a pair of jeans. After brushing and putting in her contacts, if the Bebop was docked somewhere, she would take Ein out for a walk. She had unofficially adopted care for him. She made sure he was fed real dog food and she wasn't shy about pooper scooping. Ein was thankful for the consistency.

Next, Lisbeth would drop in on Ed. Lisbeth was quickly blown away by how intelligent Ed was about everything. Ed, on the other hand, was pleased to have an audience to show off for. But Ed would often quickly lose interest and become distracted. The young girl would wander off to where Lisbeth couldn't (or wouldn't) follow. Airshafts, for example, were completely out of the question, even if Lisbeth could fit in one.

Then, Lisbeth would try to find Faye. If Faye was going out for the day, Lisbeth would go with her. If Faye stayed in, Lisbeth would try to make conversation. Initially, Faye was very resistant to the constant presence. She had gotten used to being ignored and was easily annoyed by Lisbeth constantly hanging around.

This was especially true when Lisbeth would follow Faye uninvited. Near the end of Lisbeth's first week there, Faye took off in the Redtail to go bet at the racetrack. Lisbeth followed in her own starship, the Starling. Faye's luck ran foul early and often that day and she lost a lot of money. Her temper was an ugly purple that even strangers could see and most tried to stay out of her way as she stormed out of the park. While Lisbeth hadn't bet anything and hadn't lost any of her money, she was worried that she was about to lose Faye's participation in her project. Faye was closed off and Lisbeth could not see an inroad to get onto Faye's good side. Therefore, Lisbeth, stormed out after Faye in an equally sour mood, mad at herself for failing to build the necessary rapport.

In the parking lot, the women walked past two young men wearing shirts with Greek lettering that announced their fraternity affiliation. They were roosting on the hood of a recent-model sports car. Neither Faye nor Lisbeth noticed the men; they looked like every other frat boy at the track trying to develop a gambling addiction. They were lost in their own dark reveries, trying to come up with strategies to recoup their respective losses.

"Oooh, fuckin' hot chicks 10 o'clock, bro," one frat boy said loudly to the other in the typically tired vernacular of frat guys.

As both men smirked at the women, Lisbeth gave them an icy stare and Faye flipped them the bird without breaking stride.

"Oooh, feisty. We like it when you've got some fight in you," said the same young man, hopping down off of his car closely followed by his mute friend.

Faye sighed in frustration and turned around to face the two fraternity boys, her pose uninviting, unafraid, annoyed, and defiant.

"Looks like she's ready to play. How 'bout it, babe? You, me, your friend, and my friend. Or just you and me and Damon here."

Faye rolled her eyes and balled up her hands into fists. She realized that she had forgotten her gloves and could see this would all end with her breaking a fingernail. Lisbeth sidled up to Faye, equally annoyed at the boys, and lightly touched her elbow saying, "C'mon, let's just go."

"Look, bitch, you can just run along home, then. We'll just take Miss Sexpot here and show her a little fun." The guys began to snicker and high-five each other.

Lisbeth slowly turned her attention to the two young men. She leveled her dark eyes at each of them in turn. Both men felt cut off at the knees by the sharpness of her glare. She said slowly and quietly, "I bet your 'fun' IS little. Why don't you two little boys just run along home and annoy some sorority girls or something?"

Faye saw the cooling effect Lisbeth's words were having. The guys seemed to have grown smaller, shrunk a few inches. But neither was willing back down, refusing to accept that they had been shot down so quickly and easily. The frat guy who had been doing the talking mustered up whatever courage or testosterone was left in him and did his best to recoup. He turned back to Faye, gave her what he considered his most charming smile, but only made eye contact with her chest, and said, "Look, my back seat folds down…" Even his unspeaking friend winced.

Faye and Lisbeth's expressions did not change, but Lisbeth thought that she saw Faye's hand inch towards the gun she had secreted in her jacket pocket. "Look here, Scooter," said Lisbeth in an icy tone that smoked with contempt, "I can tell you that I definitely wouldn't waste a second on you." She regarded them in the same way she would look at something she had just scraped off the bottom of her shoe. "I don't know what makes you think that someone twice as gorgeous as me would have anything to do with you."

Lisbeth squared off her stance, ready for any reaction. She lowered her chin and glared up at the men from under her eyebrows with unflinching challenge. After the way her day had gone, she would have been up for a fight. When the corners of her mouth began to turn up into a wicked, confident grin, both young men visibly deflated, losing their original bravado.

Faye was a little impressed by Lisbeth. Faye had felt that they probably could have just skipped the talking and gone right into the ass kicking, but only because she had never seen talking so effective in taking the wind out of jerks' sails.

The men exchanged a quick glance that asked the other if these girls meant serious business. The frat boy with the power of speech opened his mouth to say something else, but Faye cut him off in her best condescending tone, "If what you're about to say is not an apology, neither of us wants to hear it."

Faye crossed her arms, settled all of her weight onto her jutting right hip, and projected all of the defiant attitude she could muster into her glare. She didn't spare a glance to Lisbeth because she trusted that they were in this together, that Lisbeth would back her up.

The guys just looked stunned. Lisbeth fluttered her hand at them, dismissing them as if they were annoying toddlers. "Shoo. Off with you, now." Almost synchronized, she and Faye spun haughtily on their heels and walked away.

When they were out of earshot of the guys, Faye smiled broadly at Lisbeth. "That was almost fun," she said. "Where did you learn to hand guys their asses to them like that, Beth?"

"I learned from the best. In undergrad, some of my friends were sorority girls." She chuckled. "We played soccer together. It was funny. They could be SO mean." Lisbeth smiled at her memories and continued, " I also somehow got involved with a frat guy for a while. His 'brothers' all just annoyed the hell out of me. So, I had a lot of practice. I got good at being bitchy," she smiled back at Faye and shrugged innocently.

Faye laughed. "And here I thought you were this nice, quiet, shy schoolgirl."

Lisbeth laughed sarcastically. "I haven't been nice since high school. That's probably why I hated it so much. Guys like that would have scared me to death. In college, I learned how to not be Beth-the-Doormat and I haven't really been nice since."

Faye nodded. "I was nice, too. But I couldn't afford to stay nice, you know?"

Lisbeth caught Faye's eye and smiled, but this time the smile was sad. "Yeah, I kinda do," she said quietly.

The two women reached their starships and made their way back to the Bebop. While the confrontation with the frat boys was never brought up again, Faye found that she was comfortable around Lisbeth, that she didn't mind her presence so much any more. She was easy to talk to and a good listener and they enjoyed one another's biting sarcasm and snarkiness. After that day, there was never any more question of Faye backing out of the project.

In the mid to late afternoon, Lisbeth would try to find Spike. It was easier than she expected. First of all, he didn't care at all when she hung out. He just accepted that she would be around. Secondly, they shared an extreme passion for napping. They divided the couch in half and would both snooze in front of the TV. Lisbeth was an almost acrobatic napper in the positions she could sleep in. If she slept on her back, she would do so with both arms flung over her head. If she was on her side, she slept with her right hand glued to her forehead, fingers tangled in her hair. Spike found it endearingly strange and wondered if she was having reoccurring dreams about being mugged or doing calculus.

One afternoon, Jet walked into the common room to find Ed spread eagle on the floor next to an equally incapacitated Ein. Spike was on the couch, on his back, with one arm over his face and both legs draped over the back of the couch. Lisbeth was taking up the other half, legs folded in and resting on her chest, head pillowed on the arm of the couch, and arms thrown over her head and dangling down the side of the couch. For a second, Jet thought he had stumbled into the aftermath of a massacre or a bizarre suicide pact. But then Ein snored and Ed muttered, "But it's MY turn to play with the autoclave," in her sleep. Jet left shaking his head. No one woke.

Lisbeth spent much of her awake time with Spike in much the same way she did with Jet. They didn't talk much at first, but they both got a kick out of one another and liked to hear what the other had to say. They mostly watched television or read quietly. If Spike went to do some repairs on the Swordfish, she would watch and help where she could.

Lisbeth took the late afternoons and early evenings for herself. She would often jog outside or try and do some bastardized form of yoga inside if they weren't docked. Afterwards, she spent time organizing her files, writing up notes, and reviewing and labeling the previous day's recordings. She would take that time to work at her computer. She would explore the net, write, or just play games well into the night.

Things between Lisbeth and the other members of the Bebop were not always so easy-going. Although she didn't smoke, Lisbeth was equally as orally fixated as the rest of the crew. She would noisily snap and pop her gum or chew on her nails absent mindedly. Lisbeth was also slightly obsessive compulsive about her room. Certain things could only go in certain places. She wasn't a neat freak, but she became visibly distressed if someone kicked shoes into the wrong corner or if her piles of articles became disturbed. Her corner of the ship was also officially non-smoking. Furthermore, Lisbeth had a small stubborn streak. She wouldn't give an inch if she thought that she was right. An ardent feminist, she would not abide any disparaging remarks made about women in her presence, whether they were made by the guys or by Faye. But, as people do, Lisbeth and the cowboys she studied learned to pick their battles around one another. Lisbeth settled in quicker than anyone had expected.

With her basic routine in place and with the crew of the Bebop used to and accepting of her presence, Lisbeth felt that she was ready to begin in earnest.

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And do I. --S


	4. Fieldnotes 1: Haunting Jet 1

Disclaimer: Again, don't own CB. Am very poor.

Author's Note: First, I need to apologize for cheesing out on the last chapter. Second, I apologize for getting this up so late. The reasons for both are the same. I was visiting with family so I hurried to get the last chapter up and was delayed in finishing this chapter. I just hate it when real life gets in the way of my Cowboy Bebop.

Be forewarned: This is a long chapter, I've even had to cut it in two. But I made it fun, I swear. I tried to stay true to Bebop form: I'm "winking" at another of my favorite TV shows. The trick is to see if you can tell which one. It's not hard, but see if you can get all of the inside jokes. This was terrific fun to write and I hope that people enjoy it. –S.

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Participant Observation

By Starzki

Field Notes # 1: Haunting Jet

At 8:00 in the morning, Lisbeth and Jet sat at the kitchen counter staring into their cups of coffee. Jet was already lighting his second cigarette of the day. Because her short legs wouldn't reach the ground when she sat in the stool at the counter, Lisbeth absentmindedly kicked her feet and wondered how the members of the Bebop could survive on what appeared to be a steady diet of nicotine and caffeine. She had to take her stimulants one at a time or else her mind would race too fast to keep any coherent thoughts in place. Even a third cup of coffee could put her out of commission for a couple of hours.

Jet cleared his throat. The noise was unusual and strident in the typical mutually appreciated stillness of the morning. Lisbeth raised her eyebrows and looked up at Jet over her glasses with expectancy.

He said, "I've got a tip on a bounty head. You coming with?"

"Okey dokey smoky," replied Lisbeth dryly, trying to force herself to be cheerful so early in the morning.

"When Spike, Faye, and Ed wake up, we can come up with a plan of how to bring him in." Jet felt uncomfortable about taking Lisbeth along. Over the past few days, he'd grown to like her and felt somewhat protective of her. She was so small and he couldn't imagine that a lifetime of schooling would be any preparation for dealing with criminals. But he had already promised her that she could follow him and he would stand by his word. If things looked like they would get too dangerous, he would find a way to send her home.

Lisbeth stretched and smiled. "I can't wait to get started."

Within the next hour, Spike and Faye made their appearances. Lisbeth had changed into what she considered an appropriate bounty catching outfit of a fitted black t-shirt and dark green khaki pants. Her hair was pulled back into what looked like a complicated French braid. Ed was at her computer, had donned her goggles, and was waving her arms and legs at Tomato's screen.

As everyone sat down, Ed handed Jet a remote control and said, "Slideshow ready to run, oh, Grand Bwana. Ed made this."

The computer screen flashed a mug shot of the man who would be their next bounty.

"His name is Carter Foxx. He's worth 500,000 woolongs," said Jet. Carter's picture showed a handsome man of about 35 or 40 with dark hair, hazel eyes, full lips, and a lantern jaw. He looked uncomfortable and worried about something. His eyes were straining to see something to his far left and his whole posture suggested he was cringing.

"I got a tip that Carter will be in Anasazi Hill today." Jet pressed a button and the picture changed. The new one showed an earlier Carter Foxx, tall and confident and posing for the picture in a fully pressed business suit. Lisbeth whistled softly in appreciation and Faye nodded in Lisbeth's direction, agreeing with her assessment. Jet continued. "Carter used to be in ISSP, Special Cases. He was a blue-flamer, predicted to rise high and fast through the ranks. Unfortunately, he began to cross the wrong people at the wrong times. He became paranoid, convinced that a shadow group within the ISSP was out to get him. He started his own investigations, tracking those he thought were stalking him. One day, he lost it."

Jet flicked to the next picture showing both a crime scene photo and a newspaper article with a headline reading "ISSP Agent Guns Down Two Civilians." Jet explained, "Carter shot two men he thought were following him. Both survived, but one of them may never walk again. The ISSP tracked him down and caught him. But three days later, he had escaped."

Jet flipped to his last slide. "Yesterday, a friend of mine left me a tip. It seems as though Carter his hiding out in an abandoned house on Mars in the town of Anasazi Hill. The locals say that the house is haunted and no one will go inside to get him for the reward." The last slide showed a picture of the alleged haunted house. Spike, Faye, and Lisbeth leaned in closer to the screen and squinted. Even though the picture showed that the sky was clear and bright, the details of the house were too dark and obscure to make out.

"I'm out," Faye said finally, getting up and heading for her room.

"Scared of ghosts?" teased Spike.

Faye waved her hand dismissively. "Yeah, right. I'm not interested. Plus, there's only one of him. Since when does it take all three of us to bring in one bounty head?" She left the room without looking back.

"Beth, you coming with on this one?" asked Spike.

"Sure am," she replied.

"Well then, I'll leave this one to you two. I need to make some repairs on the Swordfish." Spike lit a cigarette off of Jet's and inhaled deeply. "Good luck, guys," he said as he sauntered off.

Jet grumbled under his breath.

"Just you and me?" asked Lisbeth.

"Looks like it. Spike hates going after small bounty heads, the small fries. Not enough excitement for him." Jet sighed and stared after Spike for a few seconds. Then, he turned to Ed. "Can you get all the information on 1013 E. Redlum in Anasazi Hill, Edward?"

Lisbeth's eyebrows shot up and she smiled in surprise. "Checking out the haunted house? Do you honestly believe that it's haunted?" she asked incredulously.

Jet turned to face her and pinned her with a serious look. "I've learned through experience to listen to what the locals say about people and places in their town. If there is a consensus that this house isn't right, I think that there must be something to it."

Lisbeth's shocked expression did not change, but Jet saw a kind of condescending amusement creep into her eyes. Jet went on the offensive.

"Half the books you brought here with you involve supernatural things. Don't act like you don't believe any of it!"

"Jet, the books are my break from reality. They're entertainment, a diversion from what really happens in life. Plus, I AM a scientist. I may be a social scientist, but there are laws that govern just about everything. And there are ways of explaining mass hysteria." Lisbeth gave Jet a pitying look and shrugged.

"Well, Beth, maybe you're right. But there's no harm in being prepared."

Lisbeth gave Jet a smile filled with skepticism but nodded in agreement anyway.

Meanwhile, Ed had pulled up information on the house that Carter Foxx was said to be staying in.

All pictures of the house were either blurry or dark, even if the rest of the photo was clear and bright. Lisbeth and Jet could see a small, 2-story Victorian style house with shuttered windows and an almost charming front porch with a brick and wood façade.

Various clippings from newspapers and lore downloaded from the web claimed that it wasn't unusual for neighbors to hear screams coming from the house even though no one was inside. Police no longer responded to any calls about that address because there had been so many pranks and false alarms. Interplanetary ghostbusters had investigated the house once. But after leaving, none would discuss what had gone on inside. They never published any pictures or wrote up their experiences. Skeptics saw this as undeniable proof that the whole thing was a hoax. Believers, on the other hand, felt even more deeply that their suspicions about the house were true. One neighbor publicly stated that the house was evil, that people who lived in it saw their lives change for the worse. He went on to say that the house should be torn down, torched, and that the ground below it be salted in some fashion so that the property couldn't harm other living creatures again.

"Oooh," said Ed as she read along. "Very, very spooooky! Jet-person and Beth-Beth must be extra careful. This house does not like having visitors."

"Always-always, Ms. Pepelu," laughed Lisbeth.

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While flying to Quantico Hill, Jet asked Lisbeth, "You have a brother and a sister, right?"

"Yeah," she replied.

"Are they like you?"

"Well, we all kind of look like our mom. Brown hair and eyes, dark skin."

"I mean, are they driven like you? Are they overachievers?"

Lisbeth laughed. "I would hardly call myself an overachiever. But, no they are not like me. The only thing we really all have in common is that we're kind of laid back. My brother, Eddie, is the social one. He likes to party. He gets along with everyone, but is somehow always in trouble. He and I have always gotten along pretty well. My sister, Kayla, is almost my double. We've been mistaken for twins even though I'm 4 years older. We look the same, we have the same interests in school and sports and all. But we don't get along."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Not really. She's always been the baby. She's spoiled rotten. And I was the oldest, the mean older sister. I picked on Eddie until he was bigger than me. Kayla never got bigger. Now that we both live away from home, it's better. She's learning the value of earning her way in life. But there is always this competition between us." Lisbeth could tell that what Jet was angling to learn about her father, his half-brother, without actually asking the question. She helped him out.

"The competition probably comes from Dad. He's always been so stubborn and tenacious about things. I mean that in a good way. We learned to stand our ground from him. He taught us to learn and work hard and dig in our heels when we need to."

"Ok."

"He's the absolute best. I've had the most wonderful parents."

"It looks like they did ok by you."

Lisbeth laughed again and then sighed. "I don't know. I don't think that they think so much school is a good thing. They think I'm hiding from my own life. But I've worked so hard. And I'm really good at school. This is why I'm doing participant observation. I know would do so much better with quantitative work, with math, with mail surveys. I could be compiling numbers and crunching data like a demon. But, I'm forcing myself out of my comfort zone."

Jet chuffed out a laugh of his own. "It's not too common to hear of a girl who would rather be doing math."

Lisbeth immediately bristled at this comment. "Really? Hmm. MOST girls I know would rather do math than most other analysis. We just know different kinds of people and you shouldn't prejudge. And I think that you need to stop thinking of Faye as representative of all women."

The two became quiet as they prepared for descent. Finally, Lisbeth asked a question of her own. "Jet? Do you go out for bounty heads on your own very often?"

"Sometimes. Spike comes along if he's interested of if there is a real need for money. Faye does a lot of busts on her own. But she keeps whatever money she makes."

"You share the money you bring back?"

"Most of it goes into my ship: repairs, fuel, gate tolls, things like that."

"But they're just as dependent on the Bebop. They don't pitch in as much?"

"What are you asking, Beth?"

"I'm not trying to make waves. I guess I'm wondering why you don't go off on your own. It would seem to make more sense, money-wise, to work alone. Less mouths to feed, less repairs, more profit. Is it that you like the company?"

Jet let out a hearty laugh. "Those lunatics? Really. I mean, it used to be just me. But I think that Spike, Faye, and Ed all count on me. They all need me around in their own ways. I won't back away from that. When people need you there, it's your duty to be responsible and do your best for them."

"Ok. I was just wondering."

"Now you know," said Jet as he gently set the Hammerhead down on E. Redlum Street.

"Now I know," said Lisbeth as she parked her ship behind Jet's.

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Jet and Lisbeth stood in the street facing the house where the fugitive was allegedly hiding out. They discovered that the photographs were not the problem with the house. The house itself seemed cast in shadow despite the cloudless spring day. It absorbed light without betraying any of its detail, even to those standing in the street 20 feet away. Not only that, but the wood and brick seemed infused with grimy water that was slowly evaporating into a noxious fog that blurred the house's features even further. The house, or maybe its tainted aura, faintly smelled chemical and organic at the same time, like rotting sulfur.

Lisbeth and Jet regarded each other out of the corners of their eyes. "You ready, Beth?" asked Jet. Neither made a move toward the house.

"Maybe we should talk to that neighbor, David Anderson, more about what he thinks about what he has seen and heard since he talked with that one reporter. He lives down at 1121 E. Redlum."

"How do you know his name?"

"It was mentioned in that 3rd article that Pepelu brought up."

"You mean Ed? We read like 15 articles. How do you remember his name and address?"

"He advocated burning the house down! Plus, I have an almost photographic memory for things I read."

"That must come in handy."

"Yeah. Anyway, should we try and find Mr. Anderson?"

"No. Let's just get in, grab Carter, and get out."

Lisbeth knitted her eyebrows together and started chewing on her right thumbnail. She was nervous and frightened. Actually seeing the house had cut her skepticism in half. "Ok," she finally said. "After you."

As Lisbeth and Jet walked up the concrete path leading up to what should have been a charming 2-story Victorian, every instinct in them tried to force their legs to carry them away or around the house. Lisbeth was so preoccupied that she bit off more thumbnail than she'd intended and she drew blood.

-Oh shit!- a deep thought within her yelped. -The house will smell the blood like a shark. My blood will wake it up!-

The rational part of her brain tamped the panicked thought down. She needed to concentrate to bring Carter in. So far, she hadn't messed up anyone's bust and she wasn't about to start now.

Although he would commit hari-kari before he would ever show it, Jet felt every bit as apprehensive as Lisbeth. He almost had to physically lift each leg with his hands to take the steps across the threshold into the house. He tried to remind himself that this was his job. The Bebop needed the money. Chickening out would not put piyokos on the table. He managed to make himself step into the house and Lisbeth followed close on his heels.

Once inside, Jet and Lisbeth's sense of unquiet only deepened. The windows were all shrouded in heavy dark curtains and it appeared that the windows had been painted over in black. There was no light whatsoever to be had within the house. Jet handed Lisbeth a heavy-duty flashlight and whispered, "Use it only when you have to. We want to get the jump on Carter."

Lisbeth nodded but flicked on the flashlight anyway. Instantly, she wished that she hadn't. The foyer, along with the two visible flanking rooms were less inviting in the jumpy play of shadows than in the dark. The house had accumulated so much junk over the years, only narrow pathways existed to walk from room to room.

Lisbeth gasped for air. The inside of the house felt infinite, far larger than it appeared from the outside. Yet, at the same time, it felt too close. And all of the angles seemed wrong. The ceiling was too steep, the angles between the walls too acute or obtuse. The rooms, overstuffed with furniture and decorations, robbed the air of oxygen. The claustrophobia it inspired was intense and immediate for both Jet and Lisbeth.

The two played the beams of their flashlights along the ground searching for the paths that would take them into other rooms. They also remained vigilant for any movement. Both would have liked nothing better than to quickly make the bust and be gone. "Stay close," whispered Jet. "Let's not get separated."

Once the way was illuminated, Jet and Lisbeth began making their way into the first room to their right. Jet was uncomfortable. He felt like he was being herded along a certain path where an ambush would be imminent. He tried stepping around the desks and bureaus that defined the path, but succeeded only in barking his shins on a low coffee table. Jet growled and rubbed his new bruises. As he straightened, he caught a glimpse of Lisbeth out of the corner of his eye that make him feel as though all of the blood had run out of his body.

For a split second in the untrustworthy light, Lisbeth's features, while still breath-takingly pretty, had transformed from warm and reflective to alien and deadly. A flash of light from somewhere had reflected off of her retinas. It was like the glow of animal eyes at night shining in campfire light. Some other trick of the light, or he tried to tell himself, made Lisbeth's mouth appear darker and crueler. She looked to be smiling coldly and without humor at his pain, as if delighted with the sting her house could inflict.

When Lisbeth had looked toward Jet after she heard the crunch of bone on wood, her image of him hand made her freeze in terror. The grimace of pain had caused him to wince, exposing his teeth. For that moment, Lisbeth was almost certain that Jet had grown fangs. All of his teeth seemed entirely too long, but his canines were impossibly pointed. With the addition of his dark beard covering his face, he looked almost wolf-like. He looked hungry.

Both Jet and Lisbeth dropped their gazes at once and took unconscious steps back away from each other, turning off their flashlights. They began paying more attention to the items around them than to what the other was doing. They were both too afraid that the strange way light reflected off of the items in the house, along with their fear, would again play tricks that distorted the other's image into some other monstrous horror.

Jet flicked on his flashlight once again as he stepped into the next room. He didn't see any sign of Carter anywhere. The room was partially divided in half by a beautifully decorated Chinese screen. The left half of the room was dominated by a painting of a desert landscape and the right half showcased a dusty grand piano. Jet worked his way around to study the painting, fascinated by its artistry. It was amazingly realistic. It showed soft and flowing sand dunes in the background with the foreground occupied by a blooming cactus, off-center to the right. Jet halfway smiled as he sniffed the hot salty smell that seemed to radiate off of the painting. For a second, he wished he was there. He wished he was alone without anyone looking to him for money, for food, for direction, for anything. He momentarily wanted time alone where he could be beholden to no one. He shut his eyes and imagined what that kind of paradise would be like. But then he came back to himself and his reality.

When Jet turned to point out the picture to Lisbeth, she wasn't there. Furthermore, there was no door where he had just entered the room, only a blank white wall.

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To be contintued...


	5. Fieldnotes 1: Haunting Jet 2

Keep going! Keep going! -S.

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In the other room, Lisbeth was preoccupied with a puzzle. She had seen two 10-inch nails that had been twisted around each other laying on the same coffee table that Jet had just banged his shins on. She recognized them immediately as a hand-held brainteaser similar to those her grandmother had kept around her house. There was a trick to separating the nails, a certain twist and suddenly she was holding two curlicued nails in her hands. She looked up to show Jet, but he wasn't there any more.

A fear that Lisbeth recognized as completely rational gripped her stomach. Jet was the one who was armed, who had the experience. Without him, she was just an over-educated short person with a flashlight in the same house as a wanted felon. She flipped on her flashlight again and followed the path across the room to where she would have sworn there was a doorway. Lisbeth mentally kicked herself for being so unobservant. Sure, she had a photographic memory, but it only worked if she paid attention. Now, alone in a room that she felt was closing in on her, she promised herself she would do nothing but pay attention to her surroundings from now on.

-Fine,- she thought. –No door here. I'll just go back and start over to where I DID see the door.- On the way back to the foyer, she noticed where the major chairs and desks were in the room, noted the mirror built into the wall above what used to be a bar area, and even set her mind to the shape of the path the junk make through the room. However, as she retraced her steps across the room, she caught no glimpse of the foyer. She found herself standing at another doorless wall, with no exit from the room in sight.

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Jet pounded his fist into the wall where the door had been. "Beth? Beth! Be-eth!" he called, but heard no answer. He felt along the wall, sure that the doorway was there, but camouflaged in some way. He pulled out his comm. He didn't know if Lisbeth had brought hers, but he wanted to call Spike or Faye in for some backup. Jet did not like that things had already started out so poorly. To his utter lack of surprise, the comm did not register a signal and he was cut off not only from Lisbeth, but also from the outside world.

Then, from behind him, Jet heard a light, tinkling sound. He spun around with his flashlight so fast that it slipped from his fingers and dropped to the ground with an ear-splintering crash. He picked it up and discovered that the bulb had fractured. It was useless and now most of the room crouched safely behind the new shadows. The tinkling sound continued and Jet realized that it was coming from where he remembered seeing the grand piano on the right side of the room. Someone was playing the highest two notes again and again, very softly.

-Carter!- thought Jet. In a way, he was relieved that Carter Foxx was in the room with him rather than somewhere else where Beth would have to deal with him on her own.

Jet moved to the right, stumbling around boxes and chairs and other furniture, clamoring as quietly as possible to the location he remembered the piano being. Abruptly the playing stopped and Jet was face-to-face with the desert painting again. It was queerly illuminated by some outside light. Jet wondered briefly how it had moved from one side of the room to the other. But then he noticed that the picture was slightly different from the first one that he had seen. The picture was darker, depicting a later time of day. The blooms on the cactus had wilted, a putrid brown color tinged the vibrant scarlet color shown in the other picture. Also, there were weird insect footprints in the sand around the cactus, giving the impression that there was something hiding behind the prickly vegetation.

Jet had not seen or heard either the piano or Carter on this side of the room, which was perplexing. To his memory, the piano had been the only major piece. And the quiet of the house magnified every sound in that room. He could even hear the echo of his own soft breathing. There was no way that Carter could hope to hide. Jet was almost sure that he would be able to hear the heartbeat of another living creature in this stillness.

As he backed away from the painting, Jet kept expecting to bump into more furniture as he had when he made his way around this side of the room. However, he did not collide with anything and he suddenly got the uneasy feeling that the room had somehow emptied. Then, yanking Jet out of his reverie, the piano again began to play; the notes were deeper and tuneless. Only the sound was coming from the left side of the room. Jet felt confused, disoriented, and was beginning to get mad. Someone was toying with him. He shook his head slightly and focused on locating the sound. He felt his way past the Chinese screen that bisected the room. Once he stepped past it onto the other side of the room, the piano again fell silent. And on the wall was a new, more ominous version of the painting.

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Lisbeth turned away from the wall and began feeling in her pockets for her comm. She remembered leaving it behind because she knew that Jet had his. She never intended to become separated from him. She sighed in frustration and surveyed the room again.

The major pieces of furniture that she had previously noted where still the same, as was the basic shape of the pathway. But all of the details that had lingered in the corners of her eyes were different.

Lisbeth was still unwilling to concede the idea that the house was haunted. But she was even more unwilling to believe that someone was running around, changing the furniture, replacing walls, and hiding doorways. She decided to shelve trying to accurately define her situation for the moment and instead worked on finding a way to get out of the house. Or, at least, out of the room.

-Ok, Beth,- she told herself. –Think calmly and rationally. It's a big puzzle that only needs the right perspective to be solved.- The items in her eye line did not seem to be of any use to her, so she shifted her gaze down. She stood on a carpet-covered floor. She stamped her feet. It felt solid, either hardwood or concrete. It was nothing that could easily be broken. Lisbeth looked upward and the flashlight beam illuminated the ceiling fan and air vent.

Lisbeth shuddered as she considered navigating the house's air ventilation system. Even if she could fit, it was probably dark, dusty, and grimy. Not to mention full of spiders. Lisbeth feared spiders more than she feared her own mortality. She had spent her high school years on Venus where spiders thrived and grew to be bigger, quicker, and more aggressive than normal. She was fine with them if they were across the room. She could even hide her apprehension of them if they were a mere two feet away. But if a spider was bigger than a poker chip and moving her way, she would always panic, would usually shriek, and would sometimes run away.

However, this room, this house, was creeping her out far worse than hypothetical spiders. She figured that she would just have to face her fear, bite the bullet, and take her medicine and try to think up more trite expressions that might help her through the situation.

Lisbeth moved a nearby heavy wooden chair under the air vent. "No spiders, no spiders, no spiders," was her mantra as she climbed up and examined the vent. The screws were gone and after just a little bit of wiggling, the panel came loose from the ceiling. –Too easy,- a voice in the back of her head warned. But she couldn't think of another way out.

As Lisbeth examined the vent to see if she could fit, she thought she heard a sound, a sick muffled clicking. –Spider feet,- the voice warned. –They're coming.- Lisbeth brought up the flashlight and frowned when she saw how unsteady her hand was, how the light jittered and bounced because of her shaking. She also saw, to her dismay, that it looked as if she could just squeeze into the vent to make her way into the next part of the house. Fear about the possibility of climbing through the vent caused her teeth to chatter, almost masking the clicking noise she had heard before as it steadily grew louder and more ominous.

"Ok, Beth," she chided herself quietly. "You're being silly. What would Jet think if he knew you were afraid of spiders. He'd think you were a weak little girl. Now stop it. You're just imagining things. There is no spider in this vent."

Lisbeth lifted her arms to clasp the sides of the vent opening to pull herself up. When her hands came down, they grabbed something spindly and hairy. Staring down at Lisbeth from the vent was a tarantula the size of Ein. Lisbeth panicked. She shrieked. She swung the hand holding the flashlight in an arc at the spider. The butt of the flashlight crunched somewhere between the arachnid's several eyes. The spider let out a high-pitched squeal of surprise and pain and recoiled back into the vent and out of sight.

Acting on pure adrenaline and instinct, Lisbeth jumped off the chair, grabbed the ceiling panel she had worked loose, hopped back on the chair, and slammed the panel home. Like before, it stayed in place without the screws to hold it there.

Once she felt safer, Lisbeth noticed she had no feeling in her legs due to the extreme relief she felt in having survived the spider. She half-sank, half-collapsed ungracefully into a sitting position on the chair. She let out the breath she had been unconsciously holding. "Well, that didn't work," she said out loud with a dejected laugh. Lisbeth tried to calm her adrenaline-soaked mind in order to find another way out of that room.

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Jet stepped up to the painting, still somehow lit with an eerie glow. It was in the same place as the painting he had originally seen. But this picture showed an even later scene, dusk in the desert. The cactus's flowers were all brown and black, dead and rotting. The insect footprints were more numerous. And Jet could see a hint of carapace, the thorax of a bug, as it betrayed itself through the cactus needles that were more visible in the relief of the darker colors of the sky.

Jet felt drawn in by the painting, fascinated. Again, he felt as though he could be standing there beside the cactus. He could smell and hear and feel the desert. He also knew that this was the exact same painting he had seen when he had first entered the room. It was also the same painting he had seen on the other side of the room where the piano should have been. Jet didn't question how the picture moved about the room, or how it was changing. He just accepted that it was.

Jet shook his head and tried to break the spell the painting seemed to cast over him. But, instead of feeling the hardwood floor of the room beneath his feet, his boot sank slightly into a cushioning substance. –Sand,- he thought. –How am I standing in sand?- He flicked on his lighter, sacrificing the butane to get a better look at his surroundings.

Instead of a dark room filled with clutter and junk, Jet stood in the vast void of the desert landscape from the painting. Above him, stars flickered and shone. A warm gust of air that blew past him smelled like sand and parched rocks. Jet spun around and saw nothing but dark shadows of endless dunes. He heard nothing but the gritty scratch of sand sliding past sand. He was alone. There was no one for miles. He had no one to talk to, no one he could fight.

In the distance, Jet could make out the image of a cactus. –No, not A cactus, THE cactus. The one from the painting,- he told himself. There seemed to be nothing else for him to do but go to it.

His heart felt like a lump of cold lead in his chest. He had no memory. The sadness and loneliness of his surrounding forced him into a desperation where he couldn't think or feel anything but his current anguish. He had been alone in the past, but his work and the people he knew kept him from ever really feeling lonely. This was different. No other thoughts could find a grip in the slick melancholy focus of his mind. And Jet was afraid. Being by himself in a vast universe terrified him beyond any hope of redemption. He vaguely thought, -I asked for this. This is what I wanted, but I didn't know how bad it could be.- All he could do was accept his fate and move toward the only other life he could see.

As he trudged through the deep sand and as the cactus grew nearer, a brief memory escaped from the prison in which his fear and solitude had encased his consciousness. –The house. Beth. The painting. This isn't right.- But the calming fear and depression took hold once more and all he could remember was that he had seen this cactus before. And that there was something behind it. That realization sparked life in him. There were footprints. There would be something that he could fight.

-I am not alone,- he thought with a smile. His step quickened toward the cactus.

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As Lisbeth caught her breath and feeling returned to her mortified extremities, she tried to work out another plan of escape.

-Ok, Beth,- she thought. –None of this REALLY makes sense. But there seems to be a method to this madness. It's like a dream. The house is playing by dream rules. If I expect a big scary spider, it'll give me a big scary spider. I think I only beat it because I acted without thinking. The house couldn't read my thoughts, so I won.- The skeptical, rational, book-smart part of her mind must have either balked or fainted at this internal dialogue because, for whatever reason, it didn't argue. –I have to make a move out of this room without thinking about it.-

That was easier said than done. Lisbeth couldn't remember the last time she had taken any action in her life without evaluating all of the possible pros, cons, and equal and opposite reactions she might be faced with as a result. This would be like jumping off of a 100-foot cliff into shallow, rocky, snake and shark infested waters without a bathing suit. But it was the only thing that she could think to do.

Lisbeth stood, shut her eyes, took a deep inhalation, and just let herself go. Her body reacted like it had just been itching for the chance to show her what it could do without a set of instructions from her brain. Her hands flew to the back of the chair and gripped tightly. Her arms and back lifted the chair and her torso bent and weaved under the weight of the heavy wood as she prepared to throw. Her feet pivoted and her hips lunged and she threw the chair discus-style through the mirror that had stood over the bar. Lisbeth's mind, but not her ears, registered a pained scream that she knew was coming from the house.

The chair sailed into the next room and light spilled through into to room where Lisbeth stood. She pumped her fist in victory, but she knew that she wasn't safe yet. But she would be glad to be away from the spider. Lisbeth grabbed another chair and dragged it over to the gaping, teeth-filled maw of her improvised doorway. The opening was big enough that she could jump through without damaging herself on the jagged glass.

Lisbeth, still acting more on impulse than on carefully considered decision-making stood on the chair and hopped through the looking glass. She fell into the next room, landing on the upturned chair she had just thrown. She rolled off of it in a tangled, unorganized heap.

Lisbeth turned onto her back, careful of the scattered mirror shavings and looked up at her new surroundings. Despite the light, it was far more spooky than her previous surroundings. Someone had gotten a hold of a can of cerulean-tinted spray paint and drawn huge blue X's on every stationary object in the room. It looked like she had escaped to a demented funhouse.

Still slightly stunned by her ungraceful tumble into the room, Lisbeth rolled her eyes around the room, searching for her bearings. As she struggled to sit up, she noticed a figure crouching in the corner of the room. It was Carter Foxx.

His once-handsome face was twisted into an aspect of fear and paranoia. He wore a grimace like a smile. His dark hair was dirty and matted. His eyes goggled and rolled and his tongue poked in and out of his mouth on its own volition as he shivered in his own madness. Worst of all, he had found a large knife and carved an X into his forehead, between his eyes. He was still clutching the butcher knife. His blood had dried and stained the blade a dull brown color.

He seemed to notice Lisbeth for the first time. He stood and regarded her with a child-like smile. "You are me," he whispered, taking small, unsteady steps to where she sat. He held out the knife in a menacing way. "You are me. You are me. You are me," he repeated.

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Jet kept smiling as he approached the cactus. From far away, he thought he heard the sound of breaking glass followed by in inhuman scream of pain. Memories rushed back to him. The house, the bounty, Beth, and the painting.

Once again, Jet had his thoughts, his memory, within his grasp. Jet's mind fought free of the painting's hypnosis. He was still in the desert that was somehow still in the house. But Jet no longer felt swamped in sadness and fear. Lisbeth's blow to the house had weaken its hold on him and he was still primed for a good fight.

The cactus was much larger than he thought it would be. Its segmented, bristly, oval arms reached twice as high as he was tall. The blossoms, once rich and full, had rotted and dried in the hot searing sun. The footprints of the insect were still there. They were as big as the prints Jet left behind. Whatever it was, it was huge. Jet didn't care. He was ready for whatever this house could throw at him.

Jet unholstered his gun and flicked off the safety. As quietly as he could in the still night air, he stepped around the cactus to face the insect. It was a scorpion as large as the Hammerhead. It was a shiny black color with read markings down its back. The red continued onto its tail, which was flaccidly resting on the ground. It was facing away and not expecting a fight.

Jet took full advantage of the surprise and fired a shot at what he estimated to be its head. The bullet was easily deflected by the scorpion's armor. And now it was awake, angry, and ready. Its tail stood at full attention as it reared and faced its attacker. The scorpion lunged at Jet with its front feet. Jet dodged it and fired another shot, which missed the insect completely. Jet looked up to the tail and saw clear poison dripping from the tip. He fired another shot at the tail. The bullet broke through the armor and lodged itself within the second to last segment of tail. But the damage did not hinder the scorpion in the least. It brought its tail down and buried it in the sand a few inches away from Jet's foot.

In fear, Jet fired four more times. Two bullets were deflected and two penetrated the scorpion, but seemed to have no effect. Jet had to jump backwards on his back to avoid the lethal stab as the tail came down at him again. He fired at the tail as it flashed in front of him. The bullet found the weak spot between the segmented armor plates. When the scorpion brought its tail up again, it left the poisonous last segment in the sand. It screamed in anger as it reared and regrouped.

Jet laughed victoriously. He took careful aim and emptied his gun at the scorpion as it made its last charge. All three bullets hit it square in the eye, killing it. Unfortunately, its momentum was unimpeded by death and it dealt its last blow. While the scorpion collapsed mere feet in front of Jet, its tail swung around and cuffed the side of Jet's head, sending him sprawling towards the cactus.

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"You are me," said Carter as he swung the knife at Lisbeth. Lisbeth managed to grab the toppled chair that had just caused her fall and held it over her like a shield. It deflected much of the blow of the knife as Carter stabbed at her, but it completely disintegrated under the surprisingly brutal force. Carter stumbled back in surprise. He was still holding the knife.

From the wreckage of the chair that had saved her twice already, Lisbeth pulled out a heavy post, 3 feet long, and held it out in front of her as she scrambled to her feet. "Look, Mr. Foxx, my name is Beth and I'm not here to hurt you."

"Liar!" screamed Carter, his face flushing with desperate anger. "You are ME!" He lunged at her again.

Lisbeth sidestepped him and hit him on the back with her improvised bat as he sailed by. Carter fell to his knees but recouped quickly, turning around and snarling at Lisbeth like a cornered animal.

Carter stepped forward more cautiously and swiped the knife at her, back and forth, aiming for her midsection. She chopped the heavy post at the knife as it sliced by, missing every time. Then, a childhood of softball leagues and batting practices rushed back to her.

Switching to offensive tactics, Lisbeth took a batter's stance, stepped forward as Carter drew back for another lunge, and swung with all of her might at the incoming knife. She made contact with Carter's hand and the knife clattered along the floor before it was swallowed up by the shadows of the room.

Carter recoiled, cradling his wounded hand, then sprung at Lisbeth in attack again. Lisbeth swung and winced as the post made a dull cracking sound when it met Carter's temple. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Lisbeth managed a sigh of relief before she heard the gunfire and the screams that she didn't recognize as her own.

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Jet's artificial arm shot out to defend the rest of him from becoming impaled on the cactus needles. He was successful in that the only needle that drew blood was one that stuck his finger as he was attempting to de-quill his left arm.

Jet sat on the sand facing the cactus, wondering what his next move should be. He had defeated the only opponent available and he didn't see what other options he had left, who else he could fight.

-All because of that damned painting of a cactus,- he thought miserably. He kicked sand petulantly at the annoying vegetation, enjoying the whisper sound the grains made as they pelted the dead, dried flowers. –This damned cactus.-

Jet pulled out a cigarette and put it in his mouth. He pulled out his lighter and thumbed on the flame. Then, seemingly moving of its own accord, instead of lighting the tip of his cigarette, his hand reached out and touched fire to the nearest dead cactus blossom.

Instantly, the fire caught and spread from blossom to blossom, engulfing the entire cactus in flame within seconds. Then, Jet was no longer sitting on the desert sand, but a hardwood floor, ogling the painting burning in its frame when he heard the gunfire.

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Lisbeth had dived under a large desk and covered the back of her head and neck with her hands. The insular world of the house was disrupted with the smell of a crisp spring night and the sound of a landing starship.

Lisbeth peeked out of one eye to survey the damage. An ugly hole in the wall let in fresh air and moonlight. And through the hole stepped Spike Spiegel.

Lisbeth crawled shakily out from under the desk towards Spike.

Spike looked around at the room, saw Carter's still form and rushed over to Lisbeth. Her face was a scary ashen color that made her light smattering of freckles stand out like leftover coffee grounds stuck to the filter. Her dark eyes lost focus and she couldn't coordinate her limbs well enough to stand up. Spike squatted next to her.

"Beth, where's Jet? Are you ok? What took so long? What happened?" he asked in quick succession.

Lisbeth's eyes were still unfocused and she mumbled, "There was a spider…"

Spike clasped her shoulders and shook her lightly. Anger flashed through her eyes with all of the heat and intensity of a wildfire. Color returned to her face as she came back to herself. She lashed out and punched Spike's upper arm with surprising force. "Jackass! You scared the shit out of me!"

Spike chuckled as he rubbed his arm. "I didn't even come close to hitting you. What's with Carter? Is he dead?"

"If he's dead, then I fucking quit," Lisbeth spat with anger and concern in her voice.

As if to answer Spike's question and Lisbeth's worry, Carter moaned, stirred, then fell quiet once again.

"You did that?" Lisbeth nodded solemnly. "How?" he asked.

"Eight years of softball."

"Hmm. I'm impressed."

"You should see me play soccer."

"Oh, yeah?"

Instead of answering, Lisbeth swiveled her head around to where she heard wood scraping against wood. She saw a wardrobe that was placed against the far wall jostling back and forth.

Spike stood and raised his gun, stepping between Lisbeth and the moving wardrobe. Lisbeth sighed in annoyance, stood, picked up her wooden post (which she'd decided to dub "The Clunker") and stepped up beside Spike.

Spike asked, "Do you smell something?"

"Smoke," she replied. The wardrobe tipped over and Spike curled his finger around his trigger. "Wait," whispered Lisbeth. "Don't shoot, it's Jet."

Indeed, as the wardrobe fell, it revealed a door. As the door opened, smoke billowed out and Jet jumped through, coving his mouth and nose with his hand.

He said, "Beth, Spike, we need to get out of here!"

Lisbeth nodded readily and turned to get Carter. Jet helped her lift him as Spike led the way through his doorway.

They all packed Carter into the hold in Jet's Hammerhead and prepared to leave before the police and fire crews showed up.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Jet asked Spike.

"You've been gone for 10 hours. I thought something went wrong."

Jet was incredulous. "No way. What time is it?" he asked gruffly.

"Midnight. What happened here? Is the house really haunted?"

"Christ," breathed Lisbeth. "I don't even know." Jet turned his back on the two, unwilling to talk about his experiences in the house. "No," continued Lisbeth. "The house isn't haunted. It's the people in there who are haunted. The house just makes people see…"

"See what?" prodded Spike.

"I don't even know. I can't explain," finished Lisbeth, saying all she would say about the house.

Before Lisbeth could close the hatch on her mono racer, Jet looked over his shoulder at her and said, "You did really well, Beth. Good job."

Lisbeth frowned and looked to be suppressing a gag. "Thanks. But if another bust goes like this, I fucking quit." Jet nodded in a kind of agreement. He didn't think he could take it, either. The three got into their ships and took off back to the Bebop. None of them saw the smoke that had been seeping out of 1013 E. Redlum disperse into the night as the flames extinguished themselves. They also didn't see the hole made by Spike's artillery rounds heal itself, betraying only the slightest scar that could barely be seen from the street and would be noticed by no one. The house had survived since being built and would survive the Bebop crew. And it would wait patiently until it could feed again.

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Phew! This was too much fun to write. Was it good for anyone else?


	6. Interview with Ed: Take One

Disclaimer: They're STILL not mine. Except for Beth. She's so totally mine.

A/N: I'm playing around with the format, testing the waters. If it is confusing or bad (or good) let me know. Based on reviews, I'll keep on with interviews along with the stories.

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Interview with Ed: Take One

By Starzki

(Transcription editing note: What follows is a transcription of Lisbeth Silva's (hereafter indicated as B.S.) interview with Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV (hereafter indicated by E.4.). The interview protocol allowed room for notes. All written notes will be indicated in italics and included in the transcript at the approximate time they were taken during the course of the interview. Tone of voice and other vocal cues, if needed, will be indicated in parentheses.)

B.S.: Good morning. This is Beth Silva. It is 11:05 AM on May 5, 2071. I am here on the Bebop with the interviewee. Please state your name for the transcript.

E.4.: (singsong) I am Ms. Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV. I come in the spirit of peace, friendship, and sharing…

B.S.: Great!

E.4.: …of chocolate.

B.S.: Umm. Ok. I'm going shopping later. I'll see about picking you up something.

_E.4. squeals and claps feet._

B.S.: Great. We can get started. Ok, Ms. Pepelu…

E.4.: Why does Beth call Ed Pepelu?

B.S.: Well, my brother's name is Eddie. I feel weird calling you Ed when you are exactly the opposite of the Ed I know.

E.4.: Aaaah. (nods)

B.S.: Do you mind?

E.4.: It is now time for Ed to be upside-down.

_E.4. goes into handstand. Am impressed at balance._

B.S.: Alrighty. Just stay close enough so the recorder can pick up your voice. Ok. If we can get started…

_E.4. walking out door, still on hands. This probably not good._

E.4.: (laughs, squeals) (inaudible)

B.S.: Umm. You don't want to do this now?

_E.4. is down the hallway._

E.4.: (inaudible)

B.S.: (shouting) I said, "You don't want to do this now?"

E.4.: (inaudible)

B.S.: (dejected) I've lost her. Oh well. Interview terminated by participant 11:07 AM. Will attempt rescheduling.

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	7. Fieldnotes 2: Pretending Life with Spike...

Disclaimer: Except for Beth, not mine

* * *

Fieldnotes #2: Pretending Life with Spike (1) 

By Starzki

Spike stood in Lisbeth's room, absent-mindedly smoking a cigarette and examining the framed photos that decorated the walls of the room. It was 10 AM and Lisbeth had fallen asleep the previous night at her computer desk in the corner of the room while working on a paper. Books and articles were spread helter-skelter over the desk, on the printer, and around her executive-style chair. Spike regarded Lisbeth's sleeping figure patiently. She was seated in the imitation-leather chair that she had lugged in herself weeks before. Her head was pillowed on arms that hugged her keyboard.

As Spike shifted to the next picture, he accidentally kicked over one of the several dozen piles of books that filled her room. At the sound, Lisbeth gasped and started awake. She sleepily squinted at the room and groaned. A yellow post-it note was stuck to her temple, making her dazed semi-consciousness appear comic.

Rubbing her stiff neck and peeling off the offending post-it, she smiled over in Spike's direction. "Hiya, Stinky. No smoking in my room."

Spike took the butt from his mouth, frowned at it, then flicked it out of the open door. "I've been in here for 15 minutes. You're easy to sneak up on, Beth."

Lisbeth scooted her chair over to rearrange the books that Spike had just upset. "Oh, yeah?" she grunted. "Well, lucky for me, in my line of work, people aren't trying to get the drop on me." She considered her last statement sleepily, yawned, then added, "Not physically, anyway." She looked at the time and cracked her neck to help wake herself up. "Hey, I was just having a dream about you," she said, her voice low and smoky from sleep.

"Is that right?" asked Spike, his interest piqued. "A sex dream?"

Lisbeth snorted. "No, silly. We were on an elevator and the buttons kept changing, so the doors were always opening to the wrong floor. So you and I were going up and down on this elevator and you kept talking about spaghetti. You were saying that you liked your spaghetti _al fresco_. And I kept saying, 'You mean _al dente_.' And you said, 'No, I like to eat spaghetti outside. Which is weird. I think that spaghetti is more of an inside food, personally"

"Hmm," responded Spike, his attention shifting back to the pictures. "So, who's this guy in all the pictures?"

Lisbeth stood, stretched, groaned, and shuffled over to the photo Spike was asking about. She rubbed her gluey eyes, trying to dislodge the contacts sticking to her corneas. "Oh. That's Jay." The picture showed a blissful-looking Lisbeth literally hanging on a handsome, young, fit-looking man with jolly blue eyes and dark brown hair. Both were grinning like crazy and mugging for the camera.

"Your boyfriend?"

"Used to be." Lisbeth moved to sit on the bed while Spike continued to study the picture.

"Not any more?"

"Nope," Lisbeth yawned a little to nonchalantly.

"How long since you were together?"

"Well, let's see," Lisbeth said, trying to work her fatigued mind into calculations. "I'm 26. We broke up when I was 23. Three years."

"Why did you two break up?"

"Do you actually want to ask me something or do you want to keep talking about my old love life?" Lisbeth responded, her patience beginning to wear thin.

"I wanted to ask you to be my bait." Spike carefully stepped around the sorted piles of Lisbeth's academic life, opened up her closet, and began rifling through her clothes. "Do you have any short skirts?"

Lisbeth got up and pushed Spike away from her clothes. "No, I don't, as a matter of fact. Now, really, what do you need?"

"The next bounty has a soft spot for cute, young, innocent-looking girls. You fit the bill."

"Faye's younger and way prettier than me. Why don't you ask her?"

"He likes them innocent, fresh. That's not exactly Faye's look. She couldn't stop looking sexy if she tried."

Lisbeth's arms dropped, then rose as she put her hands on her hips. "And I can? You sure know how to ask for a favor," she said with a wicked smile, ironic hurt in her voice, trapping Spike between the fabled rock and a hard place.

Spike flushed and blustered, "You know what I mean." He stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to look like he didn't care whether or not Lisbeth helped him out. "He's into someone he thinks he has experience and power over."

"Spike, I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm not so sweet and nice as you think I am."

"But you could pull it off more easily than Faye."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Faye already turned me down. Come on, Beth."

Lisbeth laughed. "Ah. The truth comes out. Well, ok then. So your guy likes the smell of soap on his girls?"

"His name is Shy. He's an embezzler for the Syndicate. And yeah, he's into innocent. So, you got any mini skirts in there?" he asked, preparing to dive back into her closet again.

"Alright, Spiegel, out of my closet. I know what you perverts like. When are we going out fishing for this guy?"

"Right now. What you'll do is make a date for tonight and that's when I'll drop in. He's always surrounded by his bodyguards, but I've heard he relaxes when he's out with a girl."

Lisbeth sighed in resignation as she began picking out her clothes. "Get out and I'll change," she said, business-like.

- - - -

Mere minutes later, Lisbeth was mostly dressed and fixing herself up in the bathroom mirror. Spike sat on the closed toilet to offer support and advice as she got ready. She had donned a pleated plaid skirt that ended mid-thigh and a tight, ribbed, white tank top. Spike watched silently as she brushed her teeth.

Spike loved watching women doing their morning routines. Women, females in general, just knocked him out with the things they did. They were so different from men and their little rituals and idiosyncrasies fascinated him. He was always the first in the bathroom after one of the girls took a shower, smelling the heady fragrance of soap, wet hair, and skin. He could remember they way Julia would study her face in the mirror, pore by pore, before coming to bed every night. He would surreptitiously watch as Faye would continually rub lotion into her hands in an absent-minded fashion while watching television at night, lingering over the softness of her own hands. That fascination was there in the way that Ed's face would light up when he would walk into the room when she wasn't expecting him, the happy squeal she emitted, and the warm feeling it gave him to know he had been missed. It was there when Lisbeth would twirl her hair while she read, smoothing and petting it, diving her fingers in it up to her wrists if the book could be laid flat. He loved seeing and thinking about their differences in the way they walked, laughed, and basically lived their lives. It kept him on his heels, off-balance. They just knocked him out.

Faye walked by the bathroom and leaned in the open doorway. "I see you agreed to play the bait. Nice outfit, Beth. Very tempting. What shoes are you going to wear?"

Lisbeth spat out the toothpaste, rinsed, and began pulling her hair back into a high ponytail. That style always made her look younger. "My Gazelles," she replied, referring to the old, blue-green, indoor soccer shoes she wore everywhere.

Faye gave a low chuckle. "Those ugly things? I have some heels you can borrow so you can tart up that outfit a little more. Make him notice your legs."

"I'm in trouble if he notices my legs." Lisbeth stepped back and displayed her legs to Faye and Spike. They noticed both dark, blotchy scars and pale, shiny marks marring and crossing her skin from the hem of her skirt down to her mid shin. They were fading into her dark skin, but noticeable upon any close inspection. "Sixteen years of soccer tend to leave their impression. As my dad says, I'm in no danger of winning any beauty contests."

Spike looked up. "That's not a nice thing to say. Those aren't bad at all."

Lisbeth bobbed her head in agreement to the latter part of his statement and began applying concealer under her eyes. "No, he meant it as a compliment. I was raised to value my insides more than my outsides."

"Well, it's your outsides that are going to get this guy to notice you," said Faye as she took Lisbeth's cosmetics bag from her. "Let's see how good we can make you look." Faye then expertly navigated various powders, glosses, and glitters and applied them like an artist to Lisbeth's face. Minutes later, she was done and both women looked into the mirror to inspect the handiwork.

Spike glanced into the mirror, then back at Faye and Lisbeth, again amused by the way "strikingly beautiful" could apply so aptly to two such different women. His acute eyes never missed anything. Living with Faye, he'd grown accustomed to her cold beauty, but next to Lisbeth, it seemed new again. Faye looked like she had been carved from flawless marble by a master sculptor. Her smooth white skin was stretched taught over perfect bone structure accentuated by her slim coltish figure. She always looked surrounded by smooth, placid water that she glided through with ease. Only her unusual forest green eyes belied her spark and the manic intensity of which she was capable. Even during the times she tap danced on his last nerve, he was glad she was there, if only for aesthetic reasons.

In strict contrast, Lisbeth looked as though she radiated heat. The tank top she wore accentuated her olive complexion and bared more skin than was her usual wont. Her well-defined muscles were alive under the skin that glowed with health and fitness. Lisbeth's hourglass figure, with her small waist and curvy hips and chest, gave her a soft, inviting look. She looked substantial and palpable next to Faye's ephemeral, wispy presence. Faye's make-up job on Lisbeth was superb. Her already large dark eyes were made to look even wider and more innocent. The candy-scented lip-gloss gave her mouth an appropriate pout. And Faye had not covered the freckles that speckled the bridge of her nose. Combined with her lack of height, Lisbeth could have easily passed for 18; 16 if Shy didn't notice the shrewd courage in her eyes that young girls rarely achieved. Completely inappropriate thoughts invaded Spike's mind looking at his two gorgeous, but weird, roommates.

Faye was complimenting her own work, "Not bad, if he likes the schoolgirl thing."

Spike shook himself out of his reverie and said, "He does. Beth, you look like…"

"Jailbait," she finished for him. She made a face like she had just taken a huge bite out of a lemon as she scrutinized herself. "I feel silly."

"Well, according to what I've heard about what Shy likes, you look perfect," Spike answered.

"Good luck and all. Better you than me. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," called Faye as she walked down the hall, leaving the two in the bathroom.

"I think I need a drink," Lisbeth announced, still unconvinced she looked the part.

"Later. We need to get going. He'll be in the park until 2 pm. There's a concert there."

"Where are we, anyway? Mars?"

"Yep. Tierra Roja."

Lisbeth brightened immediately. "Really? My friend Jessmynda goes to school here! I'll call her up later." She beamed at Spike, her mood lightened considerably, adding a small skip to her step as she walked down the hall.

- - - -

Twenty minutes after sticking in their head shout goodbye to the feet poked out from under the Hammerhead, Lisbeth and Spike were walking through one of the city's residential areas as they made their way to the park. The day was beyond beautiful. The guys at the Weather Control Center had outdone themselves. A bright yellow sun warmed away the last traces of winter and a cool breeze whispered its way through the budding trees. The air was redolent with the smell of lilacs, lilies and daffodils that the urban dwellers planted every year to help fight knowledge of the fact that they lived on a carpet of concrete and steel.

Couples walking together, people holding hands, playing children and pets populated the sidewalks. The weather was bringing out the best in everyone. They all politely smiled and nodded as they passed each other. The three and four-story walk-ups that lined the streets pitched in to the ambiance with their quaint facades and cheery window boxes. Everything seemed perfect.

Lisbeth and Spike strolled down the walk. They were as relaxed and amused as they made their way to set up their next bounty head. Spike noticed, with satisfaction, the jealous looks he was getting from most of the men they passed. Other men gave Lisbeth looks of undisguised admiration. Spike stole a glance at her to see if she noticed. Staring at a point 5 feet or 5000 feet ahead of her, the looks rolled off of Lisbeth like water, failing to touch her. She was smiling faintly.

"Where are you?" asked Spike, curious as to what could make Lisbeth look so satisfied and happy.

"Hmm?" She turned and looked at him dreamily, not quite focusing on him. "Oh, just in my head."

"Must be nice in there."

"It's basically the same as out here. It's just such a lovely day. I was just pretending."

"Pretending what?"

"That I had a different life."

Spike smiled down at Lisbeth. He stood a head over her, even as he slouched. "You don't like the one you have?"

"Oh, no! I love my life. I just sometimes wonder what things would be like if things were different. Like that Frost poem. I took the road less traveled by, and it has made all the difference."

"You miss that guy? Jay?"

Lisbeth opened her mouth and looked like she was about to say no, then stopped herself. "That's not what I meant, really."

"Oh yeah?"

"It's like this," she threaded her arm through Spike's and hugged his elbow. "I'll pretend I'm not me and you'll pretend you're not you. We're just a couple. We don't have the same memories or the same pasts. We don't have anything else to do but walk down this street and be happy. And we are. In this second, we are."

Lisbeth shut her eyes and tilted her face to the sun, smelling the fragrant air, dreamy smile back on her lips. Spike looked at her untrustingly. She did look happy. He kept walking and thinking about a life out there that could never have been his where he could be that pretend man, made happy by simply walking down the sidewalk on a late spring morning. For a second, he felt lighter, but then the feeling was gone.

Lisbeth dropped his elbow and sighed. She gave Spike a slightly apologetic smile.

"We done?" he asked.

"Yeah. Now I'm pretending that I'm about to find out that pretend-you is having an affair with someone I work with. This pretend-someone looks exactly like Faye, by the way." She gave him a teasing elbow in the ribs. Before he could protest, she added, "And pretend-me wants out of this relationship because I'm being stifled artistically. Pretend-me was a writer."

"You do this pretending often?"

"All the time. Mostly, I just pretend that people actually take me seriously. The 'happy life' pretending usually collapses under my cynical nature in less than a minute. But it's nice while it lasts."

Spike nodded. They were a block from the park. Spike turned down another street as Lisbeth continued on. He would be watching from a nearby rooftop.

- - - -

The concert in the park had attracted a fair amount of spectators. Lisbeth eschewed the crowd and found an empty bench on which to perch, presenting herself as available bait. She crossed her legs, rested her arms along the back of the bench, and again turned her face up to the sun. She knew the hell it would play on her blasted freckles, but the feeling was too nice to pass up. With her eyes closed and entire body relaxed, after a few minutes, she felt herself start to doze.

When she realized that she might fall asleep, she forced her eyes to open and saw that she was no longer alone on the bench. She grinned at the heavyset man sitting next to her and folded her hands in her lap. It was Shy, looking exactly like he had in the photo Spike had shown her. _Wow_, she thought, _that was way easier than I expected_.

The man grinned back at her. He was not attractive, but had a confidence to him that Lisbeth supposed some women (especially some young girls) might find appealing. Shy fished into his pocket and brought out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Lisbeth.

Lisbeth smiled at the middle-aged, jowly man politely. "No thanks, I don't smoke," she said.

He put the pack back into his pocket. "You looked just like a picture. I wanted to get a better look."

Lisbeth had decided to play the whole thing like she would have if she was actually 18. She smiled cautiously and said, "Um, thanks."

"Do you go to school around here?"

Lisbeth gave him another uncomfortable smile. "Uh, not really…"

"How old are you?"

Lisbeth let out a hearty laugh at the audacious question. He certainly did think she was younger than she was. That was an impolite question to ask any women over 22 without getting to know her a little better first. "How old do you think I am?" she asked in return, allowing herself to look like she was relaxing, warming up to the man.

"Eighteen?"

Lisbeth laughed again and looked into Shy's muddy brown eyes. He reminded her of a Basset hound. "Well…Let's just say I'm old enough," she teased. She couldn't bring herself to lie. She knew it would sound false and tip him off immediately that things were not as they seemed.

"Old enough to what?" he teased back.

"To make my own decisions about what I'm old enough to do," she responded.

The man stuck out a huge paw of a hand, "I'm Shy. What's your name?"

Lisbeth tentatively offered her hand and laughed as he pumped it vigorously. "You don't seem that shy to me," she said, playing ignorant.

"Shy's my name. I bet a pretty little thing like you is named…" he groped his mind for a guess. "Amber. Or Tiffany."

It took every ounce of will power Lisbeth could muster to keep from rolling her eyes at the stripper names he threw at her. She forced herself to look down at her hands in her lap and keep the smile on her face. She took in a deep breath and said, "It's Beth."

"That's so simple! I never would have guessed. Well, Beth, what are you doing tonight?"

Lisbeth's eyebrows shot up in surprise despite the fact she had been readying herself for the question. "Uhh…" she stuttered, seemingly taken aback, cautious again. Good girls, nice girls, did not just go around accepting dates from random men they meet.

Shy backed off a bit, waving his hands innocently. "I just thought we could get an ice cream or something."

Lisbeth laughed again. "No one has ever asked me out for ice cream before," she admitted truthfully. It was almost a charming suggestion.

"Honey, I'm not like anyone you've ever met."

She smiled more warmly at him, making it appear as if she might trust him. "I bet. But I'm not sure…"

"Public place, we'll get a couple of scoops, get to know each other. Then we'll be on our ways. What do you say?"

Lisbeth took in a deep breath, held it, gave Shy a crumbling look, then assented. "Ok, why not?" The two made plans to meet late that afternoon at a nearby creamery. As Shy got up to join the crowd at the concert, Lisbeth noticed he was immediately flanked by two burly-looking men, his bodyguards. _Jeez_, she thought, _Spike sure is good at this_. Lisbeth didn't know if if was instinct or experience that had told Spike that an early take-down would not have been good.

Lisbeth remained perched on the bench for another half hour, giving the cold shoulder to a couple of other potential suitors. Then, she caught the bitter scent of tobacco emanating from behind her. Spike had sat on the bench behind hers, facing the other direction. He was smoking a cigarette and looking to all the rest of the park as though he didn't have a care or obligation in the world.

"Hey, Stinky," she said softly.

"How'd it go?" he asked her, hiding the words in an exhalation of smoke.

Lisbeth brought up her arm and rested her head on her shoulder and yawned, "5:30, Snoopy's Creamery on El Paso Ave."

"Good. Good work. Thanks," said Spike through more smoke.

Lisbeth stood, looked into the distance across the park. "I'll find a book store and hang out there until its time," she said as she walked away.

- - - -

At 5:25, exactly, Lisbeth showed up at the ice cream store, a bag full of Kootz books hanging off of one arm. She didn't see any sign of Shy or Spike. Taking a stool at the counter that looked out of the window, she gazed out at the street of the bustling town. Minutes later, she saw Shy. He was without his beefy escorts. She mustered up a smile when he brought his eyes to hers, tasting adrenaline in the back of her throat.

As he grasped the handle of the door to the shop to gain entry, Lisbeth saw Spike step up behind him. The thick glass prevented her from hearing the conversation and the angle was such that she couldn't tell if Spike had brought out his gun or not.

The brief conversation ended in an even briefer struggle. Shy spun around with surprising speed and grace and punched Spike in the face with a left hook. With his right hand, he pulled out the gun under his jacket and pointed it at Spike as he fell.

Lisbeth screamed and slapped her hand on the window, willing the trigger to not fire. It did and Spike jerked back and hit the ground with a heavy thud that Lisbeth felt through her feet. Shy spun around and faced Lisbeth, the gun still in his hand. She didn't know if he knew she set him up, if he would shoot her through the glass for her complicity. The crowd of people, both inside and out, began to yell and scatter, creating confusion. For whatever reason, perhaps it was the wide-eyed shock and horror in Lisbeth's face or lack of inclination to waste another bullet, Shy did not shoot her. He winked impishly and joined the rushing crowd and was gone.

Lisbeth's heart, after stalling for those seconds, began hammering, beating the walls of her chest in earnest. She turned to where Spike went down. He wasn't there. A small pool of blood marked the spot, but the injured bounty hunter was nowhere to be seen.

- - - -

A/N: Bum, bum, BUM. Cliffhangers aren't very nice, I know. But I'm writing as fast as I can before school starts up again. Also, any feedback might help inspire me to keep going with this (/evil soliciting). -S.


	8. Fieldnotes 2: Pretending Life with Spike...

Participant Observation

Fieldnotes 2: Pretending Life with Spike (2)

By Starzki

* * *

Lisbeth ran out of the ice cream parlor and stared at the dark stain on the sidewalk. She wasn't at all comforted by its small diameter. A carelessly tossed grocery bag could have concealed it, but the fact remained: it was there. Spike had been shot and was bleeding.

Lisbeth scanned the awe-stricken crowd for his lanky form, for his curly mop of hair, but only saw people vacillating between shocked abhorrence and ghoulish curiosity. The police were undoubtedly on their way.

Feelings of uncertainty and impotence plagued Lisbeth as she tried to decide her next move. She bit a hangnail and furrowed her brow in concentration, wishing for her comm. Her outfit was without deep enough pockets to carry one and she didn't own a purse. She felt that she had to leave quickly, find a way to get into contact with Jet or Faye, get help. But she also felt pulled in the other direction, that she needed to find Spike as quickly as possible and give him whatever aid she could. Fear and worry had plunged her into helpless indecision.

She took a hesitant step in one direction, then one in the other, then ran a couple of paces in the original direction before she stopped again. "Arrrg!" she grunted in frustration and kicked the stone wall of the ice cream shop with the inside of her foot, indulging in a small tantrum. Lisbeth tried to regain control over her emotions and actions by forcing herself to relax. She placed her hands flat against the wall and rested her forehead between them and took several steady calming breaths. Her anxiety waned somewhat and the knots in her stomach began to loosen. As her vision cleared, she realized that she was staring down at a fat drop of blood that was drying and turning brown in the evening sunlight. It was undoubtedly Spike's blood.

Spike was on the move.

Whether through his own volition or someone else's, he was moving. And he was leaving a trail of rust-colored breadcrumbs in his wake.

Looking down the block leading away from the creamery, Lisbeth spotted another droplet. Lacking other options, she followed it.

The trail was surprisingly hard to follow, especially when she came to intersections. Seeking dark splotches, Lisbeth would often mistake old wads of chewing gum and other grimy dirt markings on the pavement and concrete for Spike's blood. After 45 minutes and 15 blocks of tracking Spike, she worried that the trail was going cold, that he was getting too far ahead of her to catch up. The circuitous path was not leading back to the harbor where the Bebop was docked. Instead, it weaved down residential sidewalks and into and out of alleyways. In an odd mixture of intense frustration, anger, and concern, Lisbeth was having a hard time retaining her sense of direction. She felt more and more lost in the unfamiliar city that was growing dark and ominous with the setting of the sun.

In the next block, the droplets grew more numerous, appearing closer together. While it was fortunate that Lisbeth could find the drops easier in the failing light, the greater frequency of blood drops meant that Spike was either slowing down or bleeding more. Neither seemed good. The winding pathway also seemed to suggest that he didn't have a certain destination in mind and that he was probably alone.

Another ten minutes later, the streetlights sprang to life, chasing away some shadows while creating others. The "whatifs" began to spring up in her mind. What if Spike was hurt badly? What if he was dead? What if she couldn't find him? What if she was left here, alone in the city? Her hands began to shake as she followed a line of drying blood into a blind alleyway, full of nooks and shadows.

Lisbeth said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever possessed her to insist on wearing silent sneakers. In the tricky, inconsistent sodium lights, she tiptoed on the edge of shadow and light, silent and ready. The streets she had just left had still been sparsely populated, but the alley was completely deserted and no one had followed her in. Sipping in air, holding her breath, she concentrated on listening. She could hear nothing out of the ordinary, only the rustling of scattered litter and the scurrying sounds of city vermin.

It wasn't her ears that led her to Spike, nor was it her eyes. She smelled him before she saw him in the sodium shadow. Spike was still standing, but hunched, leaning against a building in between dumpsters. His eyes were heavy-lidded and unfocused from blood loss. He had managed to staunch most of the flow from the wound just below his left clavicle with his jacket as the makeshift bandage.

The fool was smoking a cigarette.

Lisbeth walked quietly up to him in the shadow and whispered to get his attention. "Heya, Stinky. You know, those things will kill you."

Spike roused somewhat and grimaced, taking in Lisbeth's silhouette. He crossed his eyes and looked at the butt from his mouth and cocked his head in a kind of resignation.

"I meant the bullet, Jackass," Lisbeth said.

"What took you so long?" Spike asked, pain making deep lines in his face.

"Well, you didn't exactly wait up for me," Lisbeth whispered fiercely, still shaking with anger and fright. "What was with _that_?"

"You're a smart girl. I knew you'd find me sooner or later."

"Give me your comm. I'll call Jet to come get us."

"Already called him." Spike spoke in a staccato rhythm through the pain. "Told him to leave. Shy knows me, knows the Bebop. He'll be after me, now. Were you followed?"

"No."

"Good. We're not safe."

"From an embezzler?" asked Lisbeth incredulously.

Spike gave a few harsh coughs. "No. Not safe. Syndicate embezzler. He's connected."

Lisbeth was instantly angry again. "You know, Spike, this would have been great information for me to have _before_ we left."

"You would have still done it?"

"No! And you wouldn't be all shot to shit, either!" she hissed.

Lisbeth saw color drain from his face, making it a terrible orange-gray color in the tricky alley lights. She realized her anger was mostly worry. Spike did not look good at all. She took an unconscious step back, frowning, furrowing her brows together, and wringing her hands. The situation was spinning out of control and Lisbeth knew she wasn't equipped to deal with any more bad luck. "We need to get you to a hospital."

"No. No hospital," gasped Spike.

"Yes hospital. Give me your comm. I'll call an ambulance," Lisbeth responded, grasping Spike's uninjured shoulder, trying to move him out toward the street.

"Shy'll be looking there. We'll be in danger. He'll figure out that you're involved and come after you, too," Spike grunted out.

A tinge of white fear singed Lisbeth's nerves, but was replaced with stubborn anger. She never let anyone dictate what she did and wasn't about to start. "You need medical attention," she said firmly.

"Jet'll be back tomorrow."

"You need help now. From a trained medical professional."

"No hospital."

Lisbeth squared off, crossing her arms, emitting stubborn resilience, and gave Spike a hard, piercing look. "Do you want to make this a battle of wills? 'Cause I guarantee you that I _will_ win. Now give me your comm. I'll figure something out."

Spike looked into her dark eyes and knew it would be hopeless to argue with her. Even if he was in top form, he didn't think he could budge her. She looked like she would be as tenacious as Jet when she got her mind set on something, completely unbendable. He handed over his comm.

Lisbeth looked at it thoughtfully, biting a fingernail. After a few moments, an expression that looked like relief spread across her face. She sighed and started punching numbers, shaking her head. She murmured, "Stupid-me. Of course!"

She held up the comm and said to the person who answered, "Hi, Jess. It's Beth. I have a huge favor to ask you."

* * *

Lisbeth half-supported, half-carried Spike through the doorway of Jess's second floor walk-up apartment. In their first stroke of good luck that night, the apartment had only been about a mile from where Spike had ended up. He had managed to walk much of the way, but became fatigued and needed Lisbeth as a crutch for the last two blocks.

Jess and Lisbeth exchanged weak but genuine smiles as Jess took in her new patient. Jessmynda Boehm was a second year resident in emergency medicine at the University of Tierra Roja Hospital. As Jess turned to gather up her first aid kit, Lisbeth went to lay Spike down on the couch.

"Betha! No! Not on the couch!" exclaimed Jess, pointing to the wooden kitchen chair she had pulled into the room. Lisbeth and Spike both groaned from the strain as she jerked him away from the couch and poured him onto the strait-backed chair.

Jess smiled at Lisbeth again, stating, "Same rules apply: no bodily fluids on the couch. Especially ones that stain and leave DNA trails." She took a closer look at Lisbeth, mock horror spreading across her face. "What the hell are you wearing? Is that glitter on your face? What are you, 12?"

Lisbeth smiled back at her friend and pulled her aside to explain what had happened. Uncomfortable in the unpadded chair but too tired and hurt to do much else, Spike squirmed and looked at the two women who were deep in conversation. At first, he thought he was seeing double. But then saw the height difference. Jess was a few inches taller than Beth. Lightheaded, he mumbled, "You two twins?"

Jessmynda turned around and squinted at Spike. "Did he hit his head? Is there something wrong with his eyes?" She knelt next to the chair and shined a pen-sized flashlight in his eyes. When he wasn't being blinded, he noticed that the two girls weren't so similar after all. Sure, they had been cut from the same cloth: they had the same muscular build, the same dark coloring, dark eyes, and same long, dark, wavy hair. However, Jess was ordinary in every way that Beth was beautiful. Her mouth was a little less wide and more crooked; her cheekbones were a little lower. She had no freckles and her nose wasn't so pixie-ish.

Spike was annoyed at Jessmynda's attention and tried to pull his head away, but felt woozy as soon as he strained himself to move too much.

Lisbeth made the introductions. "Spike, this is Jess. Jess, Spike. She's a doctor and she's brilliant. Do what she tells you."

"Is that eye giving you any problems?" asked Jess.

"No," Spike said defensively. "Beth said you're still in school. Not a real doctor, yet?"

"I'm close enough. And I'm all you're going to get at this time at night who's not going to report you to the police. So can it, ok?"

Spike closed his eyes and almost laughed. Jess noticed the amount of blood on the jacket and grew more serious. After pulling on plastic gloves, she gingerly removed Spike's makeshift compress and helped him take off his shirt. Lisbeth gasped at the sight of the gory, bloody, wound, then recovered quickly, donning gloves of her own and taking the soiled clothes and shoving them into the plastic garbage bags provided by Jess.

Using cotton sponges, Jess carefully cleaned the wound that was approximately an inch under Spike's left collarbone. She pulled him forward and looked for an exit wound in his back. Leaning him back in the chair, she looked him in the eyes and said softly, "Spike, the bullet is still inside of you. I can see exactly where it's lodged under your skin on your back. Now, I don't have the proper tools here to take out the bullet. You really need to go to a hospital to get this taken care of. The longer the bullet is in you, the more likely you are to get an infection."

Lisbeth touched her friend on the shoulder. "Jessa, we can't go to a hospital. There'll be trouble if we do. That's why we're here. I need _you_."

"Betha, I don't really feel comfortable…"

"Don't worry," Spike interrupted. "I know a guy. Beth can take me there. It's ok." He made a move to get up.

Jess leveled him with an intense stare that seemed to drive the strength out of Spike's muscles and he sat back down with a grunt. "Is it the same guy that did this?" she asked, pointing to an ugly scar on his abdomen, to the right of his belly button. "And this?" she asked, pointing to another rough scar on his right shoulder. "And the others? Is he even a doctor?"

Spike let out his breath, too tired to argue, and said, "Not really…"

"Jessa, come on. Please," said Lisbeth, a touch of desperation in her voice.

Jess gave her a serious look, then relented, saying softly, "I really don't like this, Beth. Just know that I wouldn't do this for anyone but you, ok?"

"What do you need me to do?" asked Lisbeth by way of thanks.

"First, Spike, you need to turn around and face the other way. Hold on to the back of the chair so I can get a clear look at the bullet." Jess and Lisbeth helped Spike to his feet and turned him around.

"Beth, you hold the sponges and make sure Spike doesn't bleed onto my floor."

Jess left the living room for the kitchen where she prepared her sharpest knife for makeshift surgery. She had some sanitizing agents and the most basic of surgical tools. Lisbeth was sure that the past five years of medical school had prepared Jess to deal with Spike's wounds without complications.

Jess came around and looked Spike in the eye and touched his hand. "This _will_ hurt. I don't have any painkillers other than ibuprofen. I also have tequila. I'll give you some tablets afterwards. Do you want a drink before I start?"

Spike had gone gray with the effort of staying conscious with the pain. "No tequila. We don't get along."

"Okay," said Jess, brandishing the small, sharp, kitchen knife she'd chosen for the job. Spike noticed the intense worried look on Lisbeth's face as Jess made her preliminary preparations. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and bit the insides of his cheeks as a new pain stung his back, just inside of his shoulder blade.

Jessmynda expertly cut into Spike's flesh, estimating the depth of the bullet. Luckily, emergency room medicine in a metropolitan city on Mars had adequately prepared her for the job. Once the derma was peeled back to expose the lead, it was an easy job to take a hemostat to extract the small caliber bullet.

Jess handed the bullet, hemostat, and knife to Lisbeth who immediately returned them to the kitchen sink for a wash in hot, soapy water. Jess applied a dermal glue/sealant to her incision and said, "You managed to get Beth to do some dishes. That's impressive."

Spike managed a forced "Mmmm."

After using the dermal glue and sterile strips to close the entrance wound, Jess applied some antibiotic cream and a patch of gauze to both the entrance and exit wounds. She anchored them with adhesive tape purloined from the hospital where she worked.

Spike regarded the bandage and said, "Not more?"

"Not more what?" asked Jessmynda.

"You're not going to use more bandages?"

"What?" asked Jess again, confused.

"My partner and I have a saying, 'When in doubt, use more bandages.'"

"Oh," said Jess, considering her work, sitting back on her heels, relaxing. "I'm not in doubt."

Lisbeth returned to the living room/surgery room wringing her hands again. "Is he ok?" she asked her friend.

Spike answered, trying to smile, "I'm good. Actual doctor to take care of me."

Lisbeth looked at Jess who confirmed, "He'll be fine. Actually, he'll probably be terrific tomorrow, once he's got his strength back."

Lisbeth allowed herself to relax for the first time all day and said, "Thanks. Did you ever know that you're my hero?"

Jess smiled and said, "I'm sure I'm the wind beneath your wings. Would you like a change of clothes, Ms. Teeny-bopper?"

"Yeah, and I could use a wash, too."

"What's mine is yours. Have at it."

While Lisbeth busied herself in the bathroom, Jessmynda rechecked Spike's wounds. The bleeding was minimal. After laying an old towel on the couch, she helped Spike up and gently laid him down to rest and coaxed a few tablets and water into his mouth. She said, "This is the most comfortable couch ever made. Take these and try and get some rest. You'll be feeling okay tomorrow."

"Mmm," Spike said, falling into a happy unconscious.

* * *

An hour later, Spike awoke to the carefree laughter coming from the kitchen. Semi-dazed, he heard only snatches of conversation. Jess and Lisbeth were trading recent horror stories about school and work, goading one another into hysterical laughter. It was kind of nice to hear. Jess's laugh was open and quick, with an undertone of wry darkness and irony. She sounded like she was laughing, then laughing again at herself for finding something so inappropriately funny.

Also, Spike had not heard Lisbeth laugh so much with such utter abandon. He could tell that Jess had her undone with humor, helplessly hiccupping giggles that echoed through the apartment. It was a nice change from the Bebop's dry exchange of witty barbs carelessly thrown at one another to hear old friends who genuinely liked each other's company without reservation. He fell back asleep quickly.

* * *

Many hours later, Spike jerked awake again. He had forgotten where he was and a quick survey of the room did not immediately jog his memory. But then he felt the dull pain in his shoulder and it all came rushing back.

Jessmynda was there, too. She was sitting in the surgery chair, backwards, using her arms that were crossed over the back of the chair as a pillow. She blinked sleepily at Spike and gave him a weak smile. "How's the patient?" she yawned.

"Mmm, ok," Spike rasped out.

"Thirsty?" asked Jess, getting up and flicking on a small table lamp.

"A little."

She brought over a cup of water with a straw in it and held it out so Spike wouldn't have to move too much. He drank a couple of swallows and accepted the ibuprofen tablets that Jess gave him. He relaxed back as Jess repositioned herself in the chair and took his pulse in his left wrist.

"You sleeping in here?" he asked.

Jess nodded and looked toward the hallway. "Betha's taking the bed. She was exhausted. Plus, I thought I should keep an eye on you. You lost a lot of blood. I think the bullet nicked an artery. You're lucky it wasn't worse."

"Thanks again for what you did."

"Thank Beth." Jess squinted at Spike. "You should think about apologizing to her, too. You really scared her. I've never seen her like that."

"She seemed ok."

"Oh, no. Don't get me wrong. Betha will always be ok. She's brilliant. But she's not used to gangster lifestyles, you know?"

"I doubt anyone is."

"But if anyone is, you are, right?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I've only ever seen scars like that on syndicate guys."

Spike didn't answer, but met Jess's gaze. She wasn't angry or confrontational. But her dark eyes were wary and concerned.

She continued, "I know you're a cowboy now. But I also know that no one really ever leaves the syndicate." She frowned and gave long thought to what she said next. "I guess what I'm asking is for you not to put her in danger." Jess took a breath and immediately regretted asking him that.

Spike didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let Jess say what she had to. "I guess what I'm asking…I don't know. Just trust her. She makes good decisions." She shrugged and finished, "Tell her everything she needs to know. She'll know if it's too dangerous for her or not. Please. I would really hate for anything bad to happen to her. And you, Spike, don't need someone with an extensive knowledge of anatomy pissed off at you." A mock-wicked smile stole across her mouth. "You follow me?"

Spike gave her a tired smile and said, "I think I get it."

Jessmynda immediately brightened, the easy humor settling back into her eyes. "So, tell me Spike-o, you in love with Betha?"

Spike gave a surprised chuckle in spite of the brief pain it gave him in his wound. "Excuse me?"

"Trust me, it's impossible to hate her. I've tried. She just doesn't care that she's drop dead gorgeous. Every straight guy I know that wasn't into blonds has fallen for her. It's like I'm invisible when I stand next to her." She didn't wait for an answer. "You into blonds, then, huh?" asked Jess with a knowing nod.

"Uhh…"

"Oh, don't mind me. It's after 3 AM. I tend to lose that filter between my brain and my mouth that stops me from saying inappropriate things, asking inappropriate questions."

"I see."

"But now would be a great time to pump me for information." Jess laughed. "See what I mean. Now I've just shown a vulnerability." She cocked her head and rolled her eyes at herself. "If I were rested, that never would have slipped out." She smiled widely at Spike, showing amazing straight white teeth and a dimple in her cheek. "Did you know that you look just like one of my ex-boyfriends?"

Spike gave a soft laugh. He was pleasantly distracted by her mindless patter. She talked and seemed like she was always on the verge of laughter, ready to find the humor in even the darkest situation. "You known Beth, long?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. We go way back. We met when we were 13. God. That's half our lives." She shook her head in disbelief. "She moved into our small town on Venus from Mars. The poor thing didn't know what she was getting into. Our town was mostly ex-Texans." Jess laughed again. "Poor Betha."

Spike countered, "It seems like she did ok."

Jessmynda smiled sadly, "It depends on who you ask. I think most of the teachers and people in our town consider it a huge disappointment that she's, we're, not married and squeezing out the young 'uns."

"You two took the road less traveled by," said Spike, remembering his earlier conversation with Lisbeth.

Jess looked surprised. "Wow. That's it exactly." She looked thoughtful. Then, speaking more to herself than to Spike, she said, "We didn't really have it hard. We grew up safe and loved and never wanted for anything. But we didn't exactly have it easy, either. No one really expected anything out of us. No one outside of our family gave us encouragement when we were in high school. And we've made sacrifices. Betha more than me, I think."

"Yeah?"

"But the thing that you have to understand…Girls like her, girls like me…We were given pretty good brains. It seems like some kind of sin if we don't use them. I know I wouldn't feel right about just stopping, settling down, starting a family. I need to do something more. I think I can help people by being a doctor. I hope I can. I want more than anything to be a good doctor. And Betha…God, she's so brilliant, she's so full of rage, she'll change the world for the better. Just wait and see."

"Studying bounty hunters?"

"She didn't start out studying bounty hunters. She'll do it for now, get herself known. But then, she'll tackle the other problems, the big ones, the ones she went into research to understand. Even if we don't see it in our lifetimes, the work that she does will make a huge difference. I don't doubt that she'll help fix all of us, all humans."

"Oh, yeah?"

Jess snapped out of her dreamy reverie. "Sorry. Just listen to me. I've got a serious case of diarrhea of the mouth. Like I said: no filter between brain and mouth. What I'm really trying to say is that she's my friend and I don't want anything bad to happen to her before she's had a chance to do everything she's capable of." Jess reconsidered her last statement before adding, "Or after."

Spike felt himself drifting off again into unconscious as he said, "It's fine. We all like Beth. We'll make sure she's ok." He felt as thought it was a promise he would keep.

* * *

Spike awoke again a few hours later when Jess started to delicately change his dressings. The morning light was pouring in the window and he smelled coffee brewing. He felt rested, almost well. Even Jessmynda's ministrations were surprisingly pain free.

He looked into her face, startled because she was prettier than he remembered. Her eyes caught the rising sunrays, glinting with liberal flecks of green within the brown. He also noticed her hair was a few shades lighter than Lisbeth's, caramel-colored in the light. While not stunning, she _was_ pretty.

Jess noticed Spike was awake and asked, "How's the patient? Is there pain?"

"No. I feel pretty good, considering."

"Do you feel lightheaded? Nauseous?"

"Nope."

"That's good. You have no fever, either. Let's sit you up. Would you like some coffee, breakfast?" asked Jess, gently moving Spike into a seated position on the couch.

"That sounds great. Can I smoke in here?"

Jess chuckled condescendingly. "Absolutely not. Now what kind of doctor would I be if I let my patients smoke?" asked Jess with a devilish spark to her eyes.

Lisbeth walked into the living room and handed Spike and Jess a mug of steaming coffee. She was wearing the more characteristic huge, billowing t-shirt and running pants. It appeared that Jess had a similar passion for soccer and t-shirts declaring its glory. "You look ten times better," Lisbeth said, sitting next to him. She bounced a few times on the couch, exclaiming, "Was this not the most comfortable couch you've ever slept on?"

"Mmm," Spike assented, sipping the brew.

"Sometimes I think I slept more on this couch than my own bed in college. Speaking of sleep, Jessa, were you up all night?" asked Lisbeth guiltily.

"I dozed in and out. Don't worry. I'm getting used to it," said Jess, standing up and heading back for the kitchen.

Lisbeth turned to Spike and said, "I talked to Jet already this morning. He's on his way. He also told me that the police have Shy. They were around the corner from the ice cream shop last night. They saw him shoot you and they caught him right away." She gave Spike a weak smile, filled with commiseration and a kind of angry reproach. All of the worry and drama of the previous night had been for nothing. And there would be no bounty.

"Betha, I'm sorry," said Spike, not knowing how else to thank her and not realizing he'd used Jess's nickname for her friend. Lisbeth took the apology with another smile.

Jess reentered the living room with an armful of fresh fruit and another t-shirt for Spike to wear. The three munched contentedly. Fifteen minutes later, the door buzzer sounded. It was Jet. He shook hands with Jess and thanked her for her help. Jess filled him in on Spike's condition and counseled him to get him to a doctor sooner rather than later. Jet then took Spike's elbow and began to lead him out, down the stairs and back to the Bebop.

Lisbeth turned to her friend. "Big plans today, Jesse B.?" Lisbeth asked Jess.

"Soccer game. Coed." She gasped suddenly. "You should come! We always need more girls playing! No one cares if you're not official and you could wear my stuff. Come on Beth. Game's at 1."

"Oooh. Sounds fun. Hey, Jet, can you wait until later before taking off?" Lisbeth asked hopefully. "I promise I'll catch up after the game."

"That's fine, Beth. We'll see you later." Lisbeth squealed and Jess clapped her hands and laughed excitedly. Both girls jumped up and down, beaming.

Jess dimpled at the guys and waved goodbye before closing the door. From behind it, Jet and Spike heard a crescendo of laughter from the girls.

* * *

Walking back to the ship, smoking the first cigarette of the day, Spike felt more reflective about his life. It was only natural, he supposed, having been shot. This day was every bit as beautiful as the day before. He closed his eyes and thought about pretending a blissfully happy life as he had before. But then he realized he was pretty happy about his life already. It wasn't perfect. It certainly wasn't what he'd imagined. He still didn't have a fear of dying, but he was glad he was alive. The sunlight and breeze felt good and he knew that had friends who would help him out of a tight spot. That was a lot. It's more than a lot of people had. He took another contemplative puff and realized that Jet was talking to him.

"Hey, Spike? Where are you?"

"I'm right here," said Spike.

* * *

A/N: I feel like I should apologize for the non-exciting conclusion for this part. I wanted to get a little into Beth's background and motivations. Also, sorry about the wait for this chapter. Since school has started, writing CB fanfic went from about 5th on my list of priorities down to 20th. But reviews keep me writing, so keep them coming (good or bad, I want to know what you think)! -S. 


	9. Fieldnotes 2: Pretending Life with Spike...

Participant Observation

Fieldnotes 2: Pretending Life with Spike (Epilogue)

By Starzki

* * *

Lisbeth returned from the game dirty but satisfied-looking by mid afternoon and the Bebop took off to track down a possible tip from an informant on Io. In the den area, Spike had finally found a comfortable position on the couch that didn't pull or prod his new injuries. He was relaxed and glad to be getting away from Shy and that pit of a city. Cross off one more place on Mars that held physically painful memories of bullets and blood. Another fabulous failure: no bounty and another hole in his body spelled business as usual for Spike. He felt himself settling comfortably back into his typical amused-yet-cynical disposition.

Just as his eyes closed and he felt the pleasant levity of sleep overtake him, he heard the lock of the door disengage and the grinding steel mechanisms of the rolling door opening as someone entered the room.

Spike opened one eye and saw Lisbeth slowly lift one leg, then the other, over the step into the room. Then, rather than absentmindedly strolling or confidently striding through the room as she usually did in equal measures (sometimes both combined in one pass), she gave concentrated careful steps down the stairs and to the nearest chair. She was scrubbed fresh, smelling of lavender soap, hair damp and straight, wearing a clean t-shirt and shorts. She sat heavily, creaking the aging springs within the chair, groaning and gasping dramatically.

"Moving a little slow there, Silva," Spike observed. He was meanly satisfied that he was not the only one experiencing pain as a result of the past two days.

"I'm not in as great a shape as I thought I was," whined Lisbeth sulkily. "Plus, I'm not talking to you."

"Oh, really?"

"Nope, not at all."

"What? Did I fuck up your research or something?"

"No. I'm just sore and grumpy." Then, turning her attention away from her exhausted, aching muscles, she looked at Spike sleepily. "And you know, you don't ever have to worry about my research. No matter what, I take care of it. Just do what you normally do. Please. It would fuck up my research more if you notice it too much. Anyway, believe it or not, your getting shot was a well-planned-for contingency."

"You planned that I would get shot?"

Lisbeth gave a weak laugh. "No, Silly. Not you specifically. But my committee was obsessed with how to deal with death and injury while doing participant observation on cowboys. I have Plan B's, C's, D's, all the way through Plan J."

"So you'll eventually report on the whole thing?"

"Probably. Somewhere, somehow. Speaking of which, I should go type up my fieldnotes for this one." Lisbeth looked at the door at the top of the stairs, shifted in her seat. Then, her right leg started to spasm and vibrate, the heel tapping on the ground in quick beats. Lisbeth gave the offending leg a quizzical look. "Hmm. That's probably not good. Ok, leg. We'll sit for a couple more minutes." Immediately, the leg stopped twitching. Lisbeth chuckled at her rebelling body and settled back in the chair.

Spike gave a mild snort, identifying with having a stubborn body that would scoff at every request the brain made. The two sat in injured silence for a couple of minutes before Lisbeth reminded Spike, "Jess said wants you in to a doctor by tomorrow."

Wanting to immediately change the subject, Spike caught Lisbeth's eye and said, "Yeah, yeah. She talks a lot."

Lisbeth snorted through her nose. "Can you believe that she never said 'boo' in high school? Plus, she was a bit punchy last night. Residency is long hours and no sleep. We were lucky she was at home."

"She had nice things to say about you."

This comment earned an outright laugh from Beth, followed by a groan as she clutched her sore ribs. "Jess knows me way too well. Considering all the dirt she has on me, that is one girl I'll never make an enemy of. But it's good to know she's sharing the nice stuff." She snickered again.

"Jess said you didn't go into research to study bounty hunters."

Lisbeth turned her head to Spike, smile fading. "No," she said dreamily, a thin thread of regret in her voice.

"What did you want to study?"

Lisbeth shifted uncomfortably and scratched an eyebrow before she responded. "Domestic violence."

"Then why are you here with us now? I know we're not exactly 'functional,' but we're not all that violent to each other," said Spike, trying to keep the mood light.

Lisbeth rewarded him with a small smile. She looked embarrassed, confessing, "I don't know. It was hard. There's a whole lot of recent literature out there that I would bury myself in. I wouldn't leave the library for weeks. And it's not an easy thing to keep thinking about every day. It got to where I would want to cry myself to sleep every night." Lisbeth avoided eye contact with Spike. She scratched her nose and finished, saying, "I've done enough crying. I decided not to do it any more, at least for a while. So I switched to something that's interesting but that I'm not so…" she searched for the right word, "…connected to. I'll get back to it eventually."

Spike noticed Lisbeth's darkened expression, the sadness that stole into her eyes, and didn't press the issue further. He nodded and gave her a half-smile, which she returned. Then, Lisbeth groaned mightily as she attempted to stand. She succeeded on her second attempt and began to shuffle toward the door to begin typing up her fieldnotes before she forgot any of the details.

"By the way, who won the game?" Spike asked the hunched, retreating figure as he settled back into the couch to catch some winks before dinner.

"We did," said Lisbeth brightly, weakly pumping her fist in the air. "I scored. I've been invited back to play with them officially." She gave a tired chuff. "Maybe in another month when I'm not so sore." She continued on, but not before saying, "And don't think I'm going to stop nagging you to see a doctor about that shoulder, Spiegel."

Spike rolled his eyes at the comment before falling away into a happy, pain-free, unconsciousness.

* * *

A/N: This is the official end to the Pretending Life with Spike episode. A couple of days after I posted the last one I realized I didn't hit a couple of points I meant to, so I thought a short epilogue would take care of it. Unfortunately, it didn't come trippingly off my fingers, and with life and computer problems, it didn't get done until just now. 

One quick comment on the story: I know that it's typical in movies, television, stories, etc., for couples to do their initial romantic bonding over a gunshot wound. That was _not_ my intention with this story. There will be nothing more than flirting and "professional" friendship between Spike and Lisbeth.

I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. I really appreciate the time you take to let me know what you think. And thanks for being so nice to me and to this story. I read some of the stuff that others write and feel so inadequate and embarrassed to post. But, I'm addicted to the reviews and will continue to post if only to get feedback.

Finally, with my other "real life" work beginning to pile up, I may only get the chance to write and post when my muse wrestles me to the ground and forces me to write. I still have ideas and stories to tell. It'll be the actual writing them down that will take a while. So please bear with me. Happy reading! -S.


	10. Interview with Faye

Participant Observation

Interview with Faye Valentine

By Starzki

-----

(Transcription editing note: What follows is a transcription of Lisbeth Silva's (hereafter indicated as B.S.) interview with F.V. The interview protocol allowed room for notes. All written notes will be indicated in italics and included in the transcript at the approximate time they were taken during the course of the interview. Tone of voice and other vocal and physical cues, if needed, will be indicated in parentheses.)

_I had neglected to turn off the music in my room before Faye came in, so a random assortment of some of music stored on my computer was playing in the background. This is noted because it became important later in the interview._

B.S.: Hello. This is Beth Silva. It is 2 PM, Tuesday, May 10th, 2071. I am with the interviewee. Please state your name.

F.V.: Faye Valentine.

B.S.: Great. Let me quick make it clear before we start that you can stop this interview any time you want, that you don't have to answer any questions that you don't want to, and that you have full control over which statements of yours I can use for analysis.

F.V.: Um. Ok?

B.S.: In fact, I'll give you the finished transcript once we're done and you can check it over for accuracy.

F.V.: (hesitates)

B.S.: (joking) You look like you're plotting something.

F.V.: Sooo… No matter what I say, I can change it later?

B.S.: Not really. You can't change anything you really did say. You can just tell me not to use something, specifically.

F.V.: Ok.

B.S. Good. Do you have any questions for me? Any concerns?

F.V.: Nope. Fire away.

B.S.: (deep breath) Ok. How did you get into bounty hunting?

F.V.: (smiles wryly) I kind of fell into it accidentally.

B.S.: How so?

F.V.: Well, it was like this: Here I am, just minding my own business, and suddenly, there's a bounty on _my_ head. Can you believe it?

B.S.: Umm…

F.V.: Anyway. That's how I met Mutt and Jeff out there. Of course, eventually, the whole thing was realized for the mistake it was and it was all straightened out. And, a couple of weeks later, I quit my last job and I was low on funds. So, I decided to drop by again and offer to help them out.

B.S.: What job did you quit?

F.V.: (hesitates) Uh… Retail. You know, too boring.

_Baloney._

B.S.: All right. And, Faye, if you don't feel comfortable with any of these questions… uh… coming up, just say so and we'll just skip them.

F.V.: (innocently) Sure thing.

B.S.: Ok. So what did they say you did that resulted in a bounty on your head?

F.V.: (laughs) I don't even remember. It was all so silly I just put it out of my mind.

B.S.: Ok. Right. So, you remembered Spike and Jet. But why bounty hunting?

F.V.: Well… It was one of those things that made sense at the time.

B.S.: You thought it would fit?

F.V.: Exactly. I was kind of living a bounty hunter's life at the time, only without getting paid. And it… it fits, like you said.

B.S.: Ok.

F.V.: I know, it's kind of weird. I'll get out of it eventually.

B.S.: Oh, I don't think it's weird. It's really an interesting life, that I've seen.

F.V.: You must have a low threshold for boredom.

B.S.: (laughs) That's very true. I _am _a researcher. Hmm. So, what's a typical bust like for you?

F.V.: (laughs) It's like… Well, it usually goes, Me: (seductively) "Hey handsome." Them: (lower voice) "Oh, look! Boobs!" Me: "Good night, sucker." Then I knock 'em out or something. Haul 'em in.

B.S.: Oh. That answers another one of my questions.

F.V.: Really?

B.S.: I was going to _have_ to ask you about the outfit. It's very… um… unique. It catches attention.

F.V.: Hmm. You think so?

B.S.: I mean, you wear it really well, you look phenomenal. But it doesn't look that comfortable. It's more for distraction, to get the upper hand?

F.V.: You know, I haven't thought about it in a while. But yeah. Guys are easy to predict. Wear something like this, most of the time, you know what they're thinking, how they'll behave. It's easy to control most situations. And they almost never realize that I'm armed.

B.S.: Hmm. In the jacket?

F.V.: Obviously.

B.S.: That's actually really smart. Is all of that something you just do for bounty hunting or in life in general?

F.V.: Life in general. I like to be in charge of what others are thinking about me. If I act and dress and talk in a particular way, most people will think they know you and can predict you. You can use that to your advantage.

B.S.: I see. I see. _Very concerned about controlling what others think of her. Afraid she'll be liked? Afraid she won't be liked?_ So, what are you really like? When you're not trying to… uh… make the situation what you need it to be?

F.V.: (long pause) _Looks sad_. You know, I honestly don't remember.

B.S.: Hmm. That's ok. I was just interested. We can move on.

F.V.: Ok.

B.S.: Ok. Now, what is your most memorable bust?

F.V.: Hmm. I'm thinking. They all blend together after a while. (Long pause, then laughs) No, I won't tell you that one. It involved me doing something very suggestive with a Popsicle to get the guy to come over. Let me see… My most memorable bust was probably the one at the track. I remember it so well because the nag I bet on actually won for once, but in the tussle, I dropped the betting slip and couldn't find it later. Some asshole probably picked it up and claimed _my _money. The bounty head was worth less that the betting slip that I lost. I remember that one the best because it was the most frustrating one. So far, anyway. It's like even when I win I can't win. Things in this business can get bad and very memorable very quickly. I haven't been in it that long.

B.S.: Ok. How long?

F.V.: Couple of months, actually.

B.S.: Oh. Wow. You're brand new.

F.V.: I'm practically a virgin. (laughs)

B.S.: (laughs) If you say so. (laughs)

F.V.: (laughs)

B.S.: Ok, what's the one that got away?

F.V.: That betting slip.

B.S.: (laughs) Well, I _did_ mean which bounty head.

F.V.: Getting a way from _me_? I don't think so.

B.S.: (shocked) Really? Not one?

F.V.: Well, yeah. But, they were… It's always really complicated when they get away. I can't explain it well and I tend to come off badly.

B.S.: I doubt that.

F.V.: Ahh, well. This can be one of those things I don't want to go into. Why dwell on unpleasantness?

B.S.: Ok. _Moves away from "unpleasantness." Running from other things? What exactly?_ Let's talk about the others, your partners.

F.V.: Hmm. Ok. What do you want to know?

B.S.: How do you get along with them?

F.V.: As well as anybody. The boys are idiots, but I don't exactly hate them. Ed is Ed. You know her. There's no predicting her.

B.S.: What do you see is your responsibility to them?

F.V.: I don't owe them a thing. I'm just along for the ride and they know it. I'll help when it's in my interest and everything. I'll have their back if necessary, but I've never been one to play well with others. Basically, I do what I need to.

B.S.: The bare minimum not to get kicked out?

F.V.: (incredulous) Please. Jet's a big softie. He'll never kick anyone out. My responsibility to them is to point out when they're acting like morons, which is most of the time. I bring in the common sense, the style to this operation.

B.S.: Ok. Let's talk about them individually. You already mentioned Jet. What do you think of him?

F.V.: He's too principled for his own good. He's a good guy and that's his main weakness. But this is his ship. He takes good care of it. Honestly, I really do try and do what I can, but the man has huge expectations and is irritating.

B.S.: It sounds like you're turning what most people consider good qualities into bad ones.

F.V.: Well, that's not really reality, you know? Sure, he's a great, stand-up guy. But that's not what'll get you by in the real world.

B.S.: Are you worried for him?

F.V.: No! Please. Somehow, it works for him. He just expects everyone around him to be like him.

B.S.: You think so? You think he wants you to be a certain way?

F.V.: Oh, I don't know. No. Yes. No. I don't know. He's an idiot.

B.S.: Ok. Ok. How about Spike?

F.V.: Another idiot.

B.S.: (laughs) Like Jet?

F.V.: He's an idiot in the most staggeringly insane ways. Not like Jet. The man has the best and worst luck I've ever seen. He's…

B.S.: He's what?

F.V.: Infuriating. Dense. Blind.

B.S.: Ooh. Interesting. _The lady doth protest too much, methinks_. But, earlier, you said you didn't hate him.

F.V.: Not exactly. He's just utterly exhausting. One-track mind. And it's heading for a train wreck. I honestly don't know what to make of that man.

B.S.: You can't predict him.

F.V.: No.

B.S.: And you don't like that.

F.V.: Right.

B.S.: But you think he's ok as a person?

F.V.: This is a really pretty song, you know?

B.S.: Hmm? _Non sequitor. To divert attention from the question?_

F.V.: That's playing right now. It's pretty. (stops to listen)

_Lyrics at the time:_

_Am I not pretty enough?_

_Is my heart too broken?_

_Do I cry too much?_

_Am I too outspoken?_

_Don't I make you laugh?_

_Should I try it harder?_

_Why do you see right through me?_

B.S.: Oh. That's a really old song. It's Kasey Chambers. The song is "Not Pretty Enough." It's one of my favorites. Reminds me of back home, her old songs were really popular where I lived.

F.V.: I like it.

B.S.: Yeah? Ok. But back to Spike.

F.V.: Back to Spike. Ok, what else do you want to know?

B.S.: What is your responsibility to him, do you think?

F.V.: It would be to forestall his insane death wish, make sure he doesn't get himself killed.

B.S.: Ok. You don't want him dead. That's a start. So, do you like him?

F.V.: (surprised) Excuse me?

B.S.: I mean… Well, he's not a bad looking guy. Do you ever think of, you know, with him?

F.V.: (emphatically) NO!

B.S.: Really? Really? Hmm.

F.V.: Why? Do you?

B.S.: (laughs) No. I'm not allowed. But if I was, whoo boy! I've seen him working out upstairs. My, my. Well, maybe. Well, not really. It would definitely come under consideration.

F.V.: Well, I haven't considered it at all. Hmph.

B.S.: Ok. Fine. _I'm not convinced_. I'm just curious about inter-crew relationships. How about Jet?

F.V.: (emphatically) NO!

B.S.: Ok, ok. I surrender! Let's move on.

F.V.: Yes, let's! Ed?

B.S.: Sure.

F.V.: That girl… I don' know. My responsibility towards her… I guess just show her, let her know that the world isn't sweet and nice, get her ready for reality. I'm not exactly a role model. I mostly just try to get her to do stuff for me. And then she does or she doesn't. It's like trying to train a cat.

B.S.: You don't think you get through to her?

F.V.: I don't know. Even if I was trying, I don't know if I could. But, she's great to have around for all of the boring research stuff… Uh, sorry.

B.S.: That's ok.

F.V.: But she's a little off. I don't know how else to put it.

B.S.: Yeah. Normally, I would try and get you to be more clear, but I know, she's a tough nut to crack.

F.V.: I guess I can try and teach her stuff. Girl stuff. Life stuff. But, you know.

B.S.: Yeah. Kind of. How about Ein?

F.V.: What about him?

B.S.: Anything you want to say?

F.V.: He's a dog.

B.S.: You're not a dog person?

F.V.: No. Not in any way, shape, or form.

B.S.: Ok. Well, we're almost finished. What do you think your partners think about you?

F.V.: (thoughtful pause) Umm. Ed probably just thinks of me as that taller person who has a little more up front than the other two. The girl is impossible, inscrutable. I have no idea what she's thinking when she's actually _talking_. I don't know. Jet probably sees me as this big hassle. I eat the food, take whatever money I can. I don't think he likes me much.

B.S.: Really? _Is it possible she thinks so?_

F.V.: Yeah. He probably thinks I'm pretty and doesn't mind me too much. But I don't think he likes me.

B.S.: From what I've seen, he seems to like you. At least I think so.

F.V.: Really? Hmm. It doesn't matter. I don't care. He can think what he likes. Same with Spike.

_I'm not believing this for a second_.

B.S.: You don't think he likes you either?

F.V.: He's the same as Jet like that. Probably thinks I'm good looking. But he wouldn't miss me if I leave. When I leave.

B.S.: You'll leave?

F.V.: Sure, this is just temporary until I find a new job with better pay and less work.

B.S.: Oh. Ok.

F.V.: Yeah, are we done? (eager to leave) Because I have something else I want to do.

These questions seem to be making her uncomfortable. She's starting to shift around in her chair.

B.S.: Almost, but you just about answered my last question. Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

F.V.: Not here, that's for sure. Hopefully, I'll be rich from the ponies and happy and far away.

B.S.: Is that what you think will happen.

F.V.: (sighs) I don't know, Beth. I can't see much past tomorrow, you know? Am I done?

B.S.: Yeah, sure. Are you ok? You look a little sad.

F.V.: (wicked smile) I'm great. I couldn't be better. It's just that living with a bunch of crazies starts to make you crazy after a while, that's all. I'm going to take a shower. Later.

B.S.: Thanks Faye! Interview terminated 3:03 PM.

_Very interesting interview. F.V. has some issues with trust, is a study in contradictions. She's worried about what others think about her and tries to control it. Thinks partners don't like her (despite my observations that lead me to believe otherwise) and uses this as an excuse to be ready to leave. Wants to leave rather than be left? I like F.V. I think that she likes her life here and the others more than she'll admit right now. This went way better than my interview than E.4. Maybe I need to get her at a different time, when she's not so hyper. B.S._

* * *

A/N: Phew! I actually updated! Hooray for being sick! I actually had some down time to finish this chapter up! So, blame my raging throat infection if you didn't like or agree with my take on this or if you find any typos. I hope Faye didn't seem too OOC, but I tried to set it up that she would open up a little to Beth. I think that Faye might have harbored some romantic-type feelings for Spike, but wouldn't admit it to herself, let alone to others. Again, there will be NO PAIRINGS in this fic. I'm just writing how I think it would go in these situations.

I've decided to place this somewhere after Bohemian Rhapsody as far as timelines go.

I also kind of made this a songfic without the actual songfic-iness. I'd recommend Kasey Chambers to anyone. I see "Not Pretty Enough" as one take on how Faye feels towards Spike.

To my "regular" reviewers:

Kendra Luehr: You're too much! Don't worry about bullet wound bonding clichés. They work because they're great. (It just wasn't "right" for Beth and Spike).

Water/Air: Write more "Which Way is West." Do it now! It's getting better and better.

Darkangel, Tak, Evil Bunny, lioncourt and others: Just thanks. Thanks a ton. You all make my day when you drop me a line.

Standard disclaimer/pleas: I don't own Cowboy Bebop. I do kind of own Beth (although she seems to have a mind of her own sometimes and I struggle to keep up). I make no money from this. My only reward is the reviews people give me. (ahem). THE REVIEWS PEOPLE GIVE ME (hint, hint).


	11. Fieldnotes 3: Sniffing Around with Ed an...

Disclaimer: Well, it _is_ on my Christmas list. I'll let you know how that works out.

* * *

Participant Observation

By Starzki

Fieldnotes 3: Sniffing Around with Ed and Ein

Lisbeth fought her suitcase through the small door leading to the Bebop's living room with an unladylike grunt. It toppled through the small circular door with noisy slamming of plastic on metal. Glancing down at Faye, Jet, and Spike, who were all giving her annoyed glares from the couch, she saw that none were making the slightest move to help her. She huffed in frustration and, with a well-placed kick, sent the suitcase tumbling down the rest of the stairs.

"We've all been sucking on lemons, I see," chided Lisbeth as she unhappily took in their puckered expressions. The past week that Lisbeth had spent at home, in Alba City, had not gone particularly well. Her advisor, Dr. Sarah Kim, had called her back to the university to deal with a steadily growing pile of minor emergencies. Lisbeth had spent the week running around, editing articles, updating and re-filing addendums and reports with UMAC's Institutional Review Board in order to continue with her research, and basically putting out the fires of her life that had popped up due to her continued absence. Dr. Kim had done as much upkeep for her student as she could while Lisbeth was in the field, but the backlog of paperwork had become too much. As much as she hated to leave, interrupting her data collection, Lisbeth had to take the time away.

In that week, Lisbeth had rediscovered how exhausting and boring the non-physical, non-mental bureaucracy paperwork was. She had come to almost miss the excitement of bounty hunting. She had been looking forward to getting back to the Bebop. But seeing the undelighted faces of her participants at her return merely exacerbated the memory of the annoyances of the past week, making her feel just as testy as the others looked.

Jet and Faye had ignored Lisbeth's snide comment and Spike flipped her the bird. The television was on and Lisbeth heard the familiar theme song to "Big Shots."

Hopping down the stairs, avoiding her suitcase, Lisbeth stood beside the couch to take in the only TV show that everyone on the ship agreed on watching. She rolled her eyes at the hosts and their phony accents. Lisbeth had lived amongst real Texans for more years than she cared to remember. Well, real, resettled Texans on Venus. Fake accents like these hosts' almost made her ears bleed.

Lisbeth considered the show without really watching it. She was currently spitballing ideas to make the show an entire chapter in her dissertation. The vaguely misogynistic quality of Punch and Judy's obviously scripted banter, the hackneyed stereotyping of Texans, the representations of the bounty heads, and the pleas to the solar system's population to be ever vigilant for these people could all be fodder for analysis. Lisbeth made a mental note to bring this up with Dr. Kim in her next progress report.

Lisbeth snapped back to attention when she noticed the shift in posture and demeanor from the bounty hunters. At the flash of a picture of an elusive bounty head on the screen, each had shifted uncomfortably in their seats and made quiet noises of frustration.

"…Or the Doctor of Death! Dr. Mindi White has been stayin' one step ahead of y'all and there is no information, whatsoever, forthcoming," shouted Punch through the screen.

"That means the 10 million woolong reward is still up for grabs, right?" pitched in Judy brightly, bouncing on her toes to make her chest jiggle. Lisbeth rolled her eyes again.

"Shoot, yes!" replied Punch. "But only if whoever catches her can bring the evidence definitively proving the medical malpractice she's wanted for…"

The TV screen showed the image of a petite older woman of about 50 years old with a strangely composed expression on her face. She looked both knowing and confused at the same time. Her hair was permed and frizzy and obviously dyed mustard yellow from what had probably been a graying brown. Her eyes were wide and manic behind huge, bottle-rim glasses and her mouth was twisted into a strange and strained smirk. Lisbeth immediately didn't like Dr. White. She reminded her of a professor she'd taken in a graduate class who had been a horrible teacher and mean and crabby on top of that. Lisbeth frowned at the TV.

When the show moved on to the blatant filler it always used when it needed to stretch time because of a lack of incoming information and pertinent talking points, Jet flicked off the picture.

Spike immediately groaned at the ceiling. "Those damn cops just want us to do their work for them! We could have had White a dozen times in the past few days, but no. We have to collect the evidence, too. That's not our jobs!" Spike ranted, venting his anger. After the loud outburst, Spike then sank back into the couch and linked his hands behind his head and relaxed, satisfied that he'd said his piece.

"I know. I know," responded Jet with tension edging his voice as well, negating his attempt to soothe the others. "But that's why the bounty is so high. They have the eye-witness testimony, but it's practically useless without hard evidence and prosecutors won't go forward without it."

Faye uncrossed her legs and stood in a huff. "But there _isn't_ any evidence!" She affected a matter-of-fact expression. "Face it, women are crafty. And she's a doctor. She knows what evidence police and other doctors look for. She knows all of the tests and the tricks. This has just been a waste of time and we should quit while we're behind. There is no way to take down a woman like this when she's got it in her mind not to get caught."

Spike and Jet both looked like they wanted to argue with Faye, but neither spoke, tacitly agreeing with her. Lisbeth quickly guessed that the Bebop crew had been mostly chasing their tails while she had been gone, explaining their sour attitudes. As much as she regretted not being around to gather such interesting data, she was also glad she didn't have to share this particular frustration. Lisbeth was just opening her mouth to ask for more details on what she had missed when a young voice piped up from behind the couch.

"But Ed has a way, Faye-Faye!" claimed the girl, who was given an encouraging woof by Ein.

Faye scoffed at the mismatched duo as they took center stage next to the coffee table. Spike looked like he was about to fall asleep. Jet appeared more receptive to the girl. Lisbeth stooped and scooped up Ein, covering his pointed nose with tiny kisses while she listened closely to the others. Ein merely sighed in resignation, submitting like a martyr to the effusive affection.

"Ok, Ed," Jet said gently. "How do you plan on getting evidence that even the police can't find?"

Edward rocked from foot to foot, goggled, holding a complex piece of machinery that was hooked up by wires to her Tomato. Balancing her powerful laptop computer in one hand and the bizarre combination of metal, plastic, and glass on the other, she explained excitedly, "Mars police do Stone Age evidence hunting and gathering. Their equipment couldn't sniffle out a stinky a moose in a china shop! They need to get with the prooogram!" Lisbeth squinted at her, still confused, the mixed metaphors making her head hurt.

Jet filled in. "Well, technology that didn't pertain to space exploration, quantum physics, gate technology, or terra forming all just stalled at the beginning of the century as all scientists concentrated on the move from Earth after the gate explosion. Police investigatory technology just became less important by comparison. But it is starting to catch up again," he apologized for his former colleagues.

Ed balked at Jet. "Too slow!" She placed the machinery on the table, mugging for her interested audience. "If Ed visits the crime scene, Ed can get the bits and pieces that Dr. Quack-Quack left behind."

Faye protested, "But she didn't leave anything behind. She knows what we're looking for and it's not going to be there."

Ed made a whiny, disappointed noise, sad at Faye's lack of confidence in her.

Spike leaned in to make a peace offering of sorts. "So, Ed, what exactly with this thing do? How will it get us our evidence?"

Ed brightened again. "Hide-and-seek with evidence is not about _finding_ it. It's always, always, always there." With this, Ed made a grand gesture with a sweeping arm toward her new machine. "Quackers can run, but she can't hide! Ed's on the case!"

Jet and Spike both knitted their brows, Ed's meaning lost in translation from whatever language she was speaking. Faye's reaction bordered on rageful frustration and abject boredom. Both were apt to have her explode at the girl in a few seconds.

Lisbeth jumped in. "I think I might get it. I took a forensics class a few years ago and the professor said that it was never an issue of biology or physics or whatever in analyzing evidence. The question comes down to whether or not scientists have tools precise enough to detect and analyze it properly. Like, for example, way back when, blood analysis involved only ABO typing. Then it moved to DNA analysis. Now, we're just staring genome analysis. So, I think what young Ms. Genius is saying here is that she's come up with some equipment sensitive enough to find what the police couldn't. Am I right?"

Ed jumped up and down, squealing and clapping her hands ecstatically. She pointed at her nose and whooped, "Ed is finally understood!" She threw herself at Lisbeth, hugging her around the waist dramatically.

Lisbeth gave a self-satisfied smirk that earned her more dirty looks from the others.

Faye narrowed her eyes at Jet. "So, now what do we do?"

Jet looked thoughtful. "We let Ed collect the evidence. Once we know that she has it, we take in Dr. White. There are a lot of cowboys out there on this. Once we make a move on her, they'll know we have the evidence. It'll have to be clean. Spotless. She gets away from use, we lose the bounty."

Faye yawned. "It's not like we're going to broadcast that we have the evidence. Even if another bounty hunter caught her, we just wouldn't share."

Spike sighed and rubbed his face wearily. "I've been by the crime scenes. The local police forces are staked out as sentries. They'll confiscate any evidence Ed does manage to collect."

"Well, technically, it is their property," added Lisbeth, resulting in more frustrated sighs sent in her direction. She finally broke under their exasperated focus. "What?!" she exploded. "You all have been acting like I'm this huge imposition all of the sudden. Is my being here a problem?"

Faye and Spike refused to meet her questioning gaze, shifting their positions uncomfortably. Jet inhaled deeply and explained, "It's not you, Beth. We've been struggling with this all week. We wanted to bring this one in before you got back. White's sly enough to lose us most of the time we track her and we really can't have you around, slowing us down, being too conspicuous. Like I said before, this has to be flawless or else we'll lose her and the bounty. It'll take everything we have, even without you around."

"So you want me to leave?" asked Lisbeth, glaring at the suitcase she figured she'd have to start hauling back up the stairs.

"No," amended Jet quickly. "But you can't come with."

Lisbeth frowned for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. She didn't like not being included, especially after her absence. It did not look good at all within the research. Participant observation methodology still had a hard enough time garnering acceptance in the academic community without huge, gaping holes present in the middle of data collection. Lisbeth absent-mindedly poked her tongue into her cheek while she thought about how to redeem her current situation. Then, her eyes alit on Ed's makeshift evidence collection device.

"I'll just go with Ms. Edward, here," she suggested.

Spike snorted at this suggestion, then choked, then began laughing outright. Faye's eyes started flashing with delight as a mean grin spread across her mouth. Both figured that Beth wouldn't last an hour with the hyperactive teen. Ed, for her part, beamed at Lisbeth, happy to be in the spotlight again. Ed knew that she had the attention span of a humming bird on crystal meth, but she was currently embracing the idea of showing off.

Jet also liked the suggestion. "That's a good idea. That way, you can keep an eye on Ed, call us and give us the signal that you have the evidence, and we can coordinate the pick-up."

Spike had managed to somewhat quell his snickers as he walked over to Lisbeth and patted her shoulder consolingly. "Best of luck to you," he managed before laughing breathlessly once again.

In mock annoyance, Lisbeth leveled him with a glance. The whole atmosphere of the room had lightened considerably. She swatted his hand away. "You just worry about your end of this little operation, ok? The young one and I will be just fine." She turned to Ed with a confident smile. "Am I right?"

"You got it! Me and Ein are on the job, satisfaction guaranteed!"

* * *

Later that evening, Jet dropped off Lisbeth and Ed near Dr. White's most recent crime scene before joining up with Spike and Faye as they tailed their bounty.

Lisbeth was weighed down with Ed's newest contraption, which the young hacker had taken to calling "Flower" for reasons unknown. Lisbeth also carried her comm, its extra battery, and its electrical charger, learning from her past mistakes. It would be her job to call Jet with the signal when Ed confirmed that she had the evidence the police and prosecution needed.

Ed danced down the street toward the nursing home with Ein following, slightly more soberly, behind her. With "Tomato" on her head and a backpack full of other odds and ends the teenager deemed worthy to bring, she hummed the odd assortment of nursery rhymes mixed with popular songs of the moment.

Dusk was falling on the Martian metropolis. The nursing home they were nearing was located on the outskirts of the third largest city on Mars, Corona. While not familiar with the city, Lisbeth gazed dreamily at the skyline silhouetted by the sun. Colors that would clash obscenely on paper fit beautifully when painted across the sky in reality. Burnt orange splashed with pink dotted with dark mauve clouds illuminated the sky. The buildings, dark as two-day-old bruises both marred and enhanced the spectacular display. The complete inadequacy of man-made grandeur against the celestial perfection of the heavens served as a perfect foil. The sunset would not nearly have seemed so wondrous without the reminder of the grounded and everyday architecture of the urban center.

However, man-made elements also added a special dynamism. The rising, falling, and twinkling starships that entered and exited the atmosphere gave the living picture movement, looking like slow shooting stars. Lisbeth indulged in a raptured smile at the sight. Even though she had lived on several different satellites, she had only recently come to live in cities. Her family had bounced to and from Venus, settling for a time on Mars, Ganymede, and even Io before finally settling back on Venus. But every house, every school, every childhood memory had been of suburban, almost rural life. After graduating from her small, suburban college, she felt the pull of Mars, of city life. After moving to Alba City and experiencing the convenience, diversity, and utter honesty of city life, she wore to herself that she'd never go back, never return to the false happiness, swallowed anger, forced smiles, and hidden tears and pain of suburbia. Images of the pure and unhidden flaws of Corona against the beautiful and unfathomably wonderful sky made her re-avow her pledge.

Then, Lisbeth shook her head, tearing her eyes away from the sunset. She needed to keep her eye on Ed, make sure that she didn't wander off with the valuable evidence or lose focus on the task at hand.

Ed had caught Lisbeth's enthrallment to the colorful night. She grinned at the pretty woman, placed a finger along-side her nose and winked. Lisbeth wasn't sure what this gesture meant, but it held the spirit of quintessential Ed that tickled Lisbeth's heart and made her grin at Ed in return.

The odd trio made their way past the parked police cruiser. Two bored men took casual note of the newest evidence hunters. Neither thought that they would get through the yellow crime tape, carefully guarded by a bureaucratic-type guard whose sole occupation was to protect the integrity of the crime scene.

After politely knocking on the door to the nursing home and being just as politely turned away, "No dogs allowed. You see, some of the residents are allergic."

Lisbeth bit her bottom lip and asked, "Can we come in if he stays outside?" Ed frowned and let out a whine, but didn't argue any further.

"You can come in," said the man who Lisbeth guessed was the home director. "But don't count on getting into the room." He then pointed the way down the hall toward the room the murder had occurred.

Lisbeth had managed to learn that Dr. White had begun to lose her touch on reality. She had become paranoid and believed that some of her patients were plotting against her. So she staged "accidents" whereupon she mixed the wrong combinations of medicines and injected them into the sick and dying people who needed her. She was suspected of killing as many as ten people, but they only had the eyewitness testimony of a nurse and the roommate of one of the victims for proof.

As promised, the room was sealed off with crime tape and guarded by a young, bookish looking man sitting at a small desk set up outside the room. He saw the two strangers threading their way past the shuffling and smiling elderly and said loudly and in a bored manner as they approached, "Credentials, please."

Lisbeth blinked in confusion. She had not known that she would need bona fides to get into the scene. But she guessed that it was a good idea that just anyone couldn't go in and possibly muck up the scene for others. Lisbeth began to stammer an explanation for their lack of paperwork, hoping that she wouldn't have to resort to begging to be let in.

"Nyah," said Ed, thrusting laminated badges with their names on them at the man who appeared surprised that the two girls actually had them. He scoured over them, looking for signs they had been fabricated. He found none. Lisbeth was again impressed by Ed's abilities. She smiled at the man in a friendly manner, pretending that she did this sort of thing every day. The guard had them sign their names in the evidence log and leave their credentials with him, oddly not caring that one of the evidence technicians was a child.

Lisbeth and Ed stepped into the room, surveying it somberly. Lisbeth gave Ed her "Flower" and stepped back to give the youngster room to work, her attention fading in and out, her glance constantly moving toward the window to catch sight of the darkening sky. "You going to have enough light for this?" she asked.

"Mm hmm," said Ed, distracted and uncommunicative, engrossed in setting up her devices. From what Lisbeth could see, Ed had hooked up a small vacuuming attachment to what looked like a mini-electron microscope. It was bulky and ugly and made a terrible mechanical sound when plugged in. Lisbeth wrinkled her nose at the noise.

Ed moved the nozzle of the vacuum over the sheets and pillow on the bed that had once been slept in by Dr. White's most recent victim. Ed looked over at Lisbeth as she did this. Lisbeth asked, "You sure you know what you're looking for?"

"Yah. Dr. Quackers used a super-special, super-secret combo of icky things. If that man died here, teeny tiny parts of them will have stuck around, too."

"How do you know about these super-secret icky things?"

"Umm," began Ed thoughtfully.

"You know what?" interrupted Lisbeth. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

"K, Beth-Beth." Ed's odd silver contraption suddenly made a sound like someone blowing a raspberry and Ed whooped cheerfully. "Yay!" she giggled with glee.

"We have it?" asked Lisbeth.

"Yep, yep, yep, yep, yep," sang Ed.

Lisbeth pulled out her comm and dialed Jet's number. "What?" was his brusque answer.

"The albino owl flew the coop on a cold and rainy night," whispered Lisbeth, giving the coded signal that they had the evidence. Both shut off their comms with satisfaction.

A paper printout of whatever evidence that Ed had collected was spewing from "Tomato." Lisbeth grinned happily at Ed. "You did great! Good job."

"Aww. Thanks Beth-person," cooed Ed, touched in her own way for the acknowledgement that the others gave her so rarely. Ed began to gather her equipment and paper in preparation to leave. They would most likely have to give their evidence over to the guard outside to preserve the chain of evidence. But they wouldn't do that until Jet called.

Lisbeth's comm trilled a few minutes later. It was Jet. He was growling in anger and frustration. "We lost White! She was onto us. Faye has her in her sights, but it may take us a while to get close again. You two are going to have to get out of there with the evidence. If another bounty hunter catches her, we'll lose the reward unless we have that evidence. You got that, Beth?"

Lisbeth nodded. "Yeah. We'll see what we can do."

Lisbeth turned to Ed. "Did you hear that?" Ed nodded seriously. "You think we can do this?" Lisbeth asked. Ed nodded again. "Good. Ok, my young friend, things are about to get very interesting."

"Woo hoo!" shouted Ed jumping up in excitement.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, sorry. Another cliff hanger. But honestly, do you really want a longer chapter? This originally started out to be kind of like an episode of CSI, kind of like Fieldnotes 1 was a tribute to The X-Files. (That's right. Go back and look. Every other strange detail I gave has to do with something from the X-Files). Anyhoodle, I realized that I don't really know anything about CSI. But I liked the concept enough that I stuck with this. Apologies for the dialogue, especially Ed's. That girl is almost impossible to write for without stealing her lines from the series. I always seem to want to make her sound like Ned Flanders. Also, apologies for typos and other errors. It's late and I'm going out of town tomorrow and I wanted to update before I left so I only went through a couple of edits.

I have become a review junkie and I ask you to feed my addiction. Review me!


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